My Soul to Keep
by Fox Murphy
Summary: Once upon a time, in 1942, the world was at war, the Chamber of Secrets was opened, and no place, not even Hogwarts, was safe. Latest: Ch. 24, wherein there is Quidditch, a fight, and an incident at midnight.
1. Prologue: The Hogwarts Express

A/N - Cheers! After months of planning/stalling/various school-related interruptions, I'm pleased to present the first chapter (technically the prologue, but still) of what I hope turns out to be a very epic and exciting story. Comments/reviews are both welcome and encouraged - I'd love to hear what you think! Our story begins, once upon a time, in 1942, at a train station in London...the day is September 1st, to be exact...

* * *

_"Did you know - then?" asked Harry._

_"Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?" said Dumbledore. "No..."_

* * *

Noise. The world was all noise and chaos, smoke and steam and bustling crowd. Owls screeched and fluttered in cages as the wheels of luggage trolleys squeaked and skittered across the platform. Clustered groups of people passed through the barrier, first years clearly identifiable by the expressions of pure wonder that passed over their faces at the sight of the scarlet steam engine. Parents bid goodbye to their children, hugs and kisses and overlong farewells. Their hesitation was understandable in light of the war, the danger, the uncertainty. But no place was safer than Hogwarts, or so they had been promised. So they had always believed.

As far from the crowd as possible was a dark haired boy apparently content to watch the noisy crowd. The boy was already wearing his school robes, black and emblazoned with a green and silver serpent. No family stood near him, no fellow students waved or called out his name. Tom Riddle stood all but invisible on the far side of the platform, alone with his thoughts and his trunk by his side. Not that Tom would complain of this situation of course. He had no business exchanging pointlessly pleasantries with the other witches and wizards attending Hogwarts. He needed nothing from them.

Purely out of habit now, Tom reached into the bag slung over one shoulder, checking to ensure that the battered leather journal was still safely inside. He had taken great pains to find the journal, after all, and it simply would not do to lose his prize after so great an effort. Tom had checked his bag twice before leaving the orphanage this morning, just to make sure no one had decided to pull a joke on him and steal his books. Not that he should have been especially concerned. The boys at the orphanage had stopped playing jokes on him three summers ago after unfortunate accidents kept happening. Tom was only sorry that they seemed to catch on so quickly - he had intended to make a rather memorable example out of the next boy to attempt any troublesome pranks.

Out of all his fourteen summers, Tom felt as though this past summer had been by far the best. He had spent very little time at the orphanage, for starters. He had managed to locate the Riddle family, his alleged relations, and had dealt with them all accordingly. And in a surprising turn of events, he had also located his mother's last surviving relative. The man had been nearly useless, save for serving as a convenient scapegoat for the mess at the Riddle estate. In the ruinous house that Gaunt lived in, however, Tom had picked up a trophy or two – a black-stoned ring, which he now wore on one hand, and the leather journal that now rested in his bag. On the surface, the journal was battered and old, the leather cracked and peeling and several pages hanging loose. A fair amount of the entries had been encrypted as well, written in small, pinched handwriting. But Tom was well aware of the fact that he was the brightest wizard in his year, if not in all the school, and solving the code had been simple work. There, on yellowed pages, in ink faded and smeared with age, Tom had finally found the key he had spent the past years searching for. The final piece of the puzzle. At last, in his fifth year at Hogwarts, Tom would be able to claim his birthright as the heir of Slytherin. He would be able to open the Chamber of Secrets.

A whistle blew, loud and shrill over the noise, drawing Tom out of his thoughts. Checking once more that the journal was safe, Tom lifted one end of his trunk and began making his way toward the train. By this time, most of the older students had already boarded, and only a few of the younger students were still wrestling their way free from parents' arms.

"Tom!"

Halting abruptly to avoid colliding with a small blond boy who was having trouble with his trunk, Tom turned to glance over his shoulder in the direction of the voice. Richard Nott was jogging across the platform, stopping only to glower at a girl in a Muggle dress who happened to step into his way.

"Mudbloods," Nott muttered under his breath. "School's going to be overrun with them."

Tom nodded in agreement, watching the girl board the train.

"Pity, isn't it?"

"Not like there's anything we can do about it," Nott grumbled, "Been looking for you though. Got a compartment and everything."

"Splendid," Tom said coolly. "Although, you do realize, I'll be spending most of the trip in the prefects' meeting?"

Nott looked momentarily surprised by this, but the surprise faded into a wide smile.

"You made prefect? Should've known, I suppose. Well, you can leave your trunk with us all the same."

"I appreciate that," Tom reached down, lifting the handle of his trunk as the whistle blew once more in warning. Nott shook his head and motioned for Tom to move out of the way.

"I'll carry it. I don't mind."

Tom released his grip on the handle without ever breaking eye contact with Nott. He rewarded the older Slytherin with a small smile, and Nott gripped the trunk handle in two hands and began to pull. Although a seventh year, Nott was truly no bigger than Tom himself, and certainly not any stronger. But if Nott wanted to carry Tom's trunk around for him, well, Tom certainly was not about to complain. In fact, Tom had actually encouraged just this sort of behavior for the past four years. The only shame was that after this year, Nott would be gone, and Tom would have to find someone else to replace him.

Following along behind Nott, Tom slowly but surely found his way onto the Hogwarts Express. The stairs proved to be a bit of a challenge for Nott to manage, but Tom waited patiently and finally the heavy trunk cleared the last step and the way was open. Most of the compartments were already full of chattering students eagerly recounting their summer adventures to their friends, the noise from the platform magnified in the enclosed space. The words buzzed at the back of Tom's mind, white noise. Nott halted in front of a door at the end of the car, banging on the glass with one fist rather than opening the door himself. Muffled voices came from inside, and then the face of Damien Rosier appeared around the door frame. Another seventh year, Rosier rather closely resembled Nott to the point that they were often confused for brothers. Both were short, wiry, and dark haired, and Tom had always assumed that somehow the pair were indeed related. He had never actually cared enough to ask outright.

"Hello Tom. Good summer?" Rosier asked, helping Nott maneuver Tom's trunk into the compartment.

"Better than usual," Tom conceded. He waited in the hall, hands in his pockets, until Rosier and Nott had safely stowed the trunk up on the luggage rack. The only other occupant of the compartment was Reynard Lestrange, a burly sixth year boy that had, in Tom's opinion, all the eloquence and wit of a house elf. But Reynard did tend to prove useful in situations that required more physical intimidation than Tom himself was capable of producing. At some point, Tom intended to remedy this problem, as he did not at all like the fact that he was forced to rely on someone else to get certain jobs done. Until then, he would keep Lestrange around. Finished with the trunks now, Rosier sank onto the bench beside Lestrange as Nott pressed his face to the window.

"Looking to blow a kiss to your mum, are you?" Rosier sneered. Nott pulled away from the glass abruptly, glaring at Rosier and fists clenched.

"Looking to see if anyone's got left, more like. Every year I always hope some little mudblood gets left on the platform."

Rosier laughed at this, and Tom allowed for another smile as he seated himself near the door. Lestrange merely frowned, glancing toward the window confusedly.

"But we haven't left yet, so nobody could be-"

As if the train had been waiting for the words, the view from the window shifted and jarred violently as another whistle sounded. The crowd of parents stood waving and smiling, more than a few mothers crying as the train began to roll forward.

"Never mind," Lestrange muttered. Then, after a pause, "So, did anyone get left?"

Rosier rolled his eyes, and Nott merely snickered. Tom watched them all with his usual disinterest, already pushing the conversation to the back of his mind as he had done with all the noise from the platform. Nothing but background noise. He had more important things to worry about.

"You know, I don't think so," Nott said slowly. "Shame isn't it? Maybe next year."

"We won't be here to see it," Rosier pointed out.

"Means we could cause it though, doesn't it?" Nott snickered again, and this time Lestrange joined in the laughter. Tom waited another moment or two, then made a great show of checking his watch. Rosier was the first to notice.

"Now that's a nice piece. Where'd you pick it up Tom?"

"Family heirloom," Tom said shortly. "Would any of you gentlemen happen to know where the prefects meet?"

Unsurprisingly, not one of the boys had the faintest idea. Tom shrugged, tucking the silver watch back into his pocket. He himself knew precisely where the meeting was to be held, and when, but this gave him an excuse to leave the compartment early. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could find a free compartment somewhere further down the train. There were still pages of the journal that needed translating, and Tom did not especially feel that his present company was best suited to that sort of work.

"Well, that's a shame. I'd best get started looking then. Wouldn't want to be late."

"Will you be back before the end of the trip?" Nott asked, stretching his legs across the bench as Tom stood to leave.

"You know, I don't expect so," Tom shook his head. "All the rules to go over and that sort of thing."

Nott nodded solemnly at this, as though suddenly rules were of grave importance.

"We'll take care of your trunk then. You want to leave your bag here too?"

Tom's hand had been on the door handle, but shifted abruptly to the strap of his bag, clutching tightly.

"No, I think I'll keep it with me. I'll see you all later."

Tom was not especially concerned that Nott or Rosier would be able to interpret the journal, but all the same he did not want the book out of his sight. Closing the door behind him with a heavy, rolling thud, Tom set off down the corridor. The train rolled along beneath his feet, bouncing and clacking on the tracks and barreling through the countryside. Snatches of green and blue, smears of clouds and trees and pastures passed by the windows, repeating endlessly. One particular line from the journal floated to the forefront of his mind, a line that had proven slightly more difficult to decipher. A few compartment doors were open, their occupants pausing in conversation as Tom passed by. A group of Hufflepuffs watched him warily, a few halfway smiling and the rest simply waiting for him to move on past. One particularly noisy compartment turned out to hold several Slytherin girls, many of whom waved hello to Tom. He waved back, ignoring the sudden burst of pleased chatter that erupted. He had no time for girls, not just now. Currently he was far more preoccupied with translating the code. Tom shuffled the words about in his mind, counting with each step, drumming his fingers against his palms as he walked. He passed from one car to another, growing ever closer to the front of the train, neatly sidestepping the witch with the tea trolley. The solution was just there, hovering just beyond reach, and Tom had nearly solved the puzzle when he collided with something solid and moving. The words left him, the carefully composed concentration vanished as quickly as smoke, and Tom stumbled and would have fallen entirely if he had not caught himself. The cause of his distraction hit the floor and rolled as the train moved, ending up a few feet away from the actual site of the collision.

Tom's first thought was brief, cold panic that perhaps the journal had been damaged. A cursory check, hands prodding the leather book, proved that no definite harm had been done. The panic thus was replaced by a definite irritation, and Tom drew his wand before approaching the figure on the ground.

"Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going," the voice was that of a boy, and Tom did not wait to hear the end of the apology before seizing the fellow by the front of his shirt and hauling him to his feet. The boy was younger, first or second year, still wearing a muggle shirt and trousers. He had very dark auburn hair and looked fairly familiar, although Tom could not recall ever having seen the boy before. At the moment, he was far more concerned with making sure the boy did not make the mistake of stumbling into him again.

"It's not very polite to run into people you know."

"I said I was sorry," the boy frowned now, squirming a bit to get free. "Was an accident."

Tom raised his wand beneath the boy's chin and all struggles ceased.

"I'm a prefect you know," here the boy's eyes darted to the silver badge pinned to the outside of Tom's robes, "So it's probably doubly impolite to run into me."

"You weren't really looking where you were going either," the boy retorted, frowning now. "Otherwise you'd have dodged me easy."

"I suggest you switch back to apologizing," Tom said coolly, "Unless you'd like me to make an example of you."

"And I suggest," a deeper voice spoke now, barely more than a growl, "That you leave him alone. Unless you'd like me to make an example of you."

The boy's eyes brightened at the sight of whoever stood over Tom's shoulder. Although the newcomer was out of his own range of vision, Tom had a fairly good idea who precisely had intervened. With a sigh, he released his hold on the boy and turned on his heels, quickly proven correct. Alastor Moody, a sixth year Gryffindor with an infamously bad temper, stood in the middle of the corridor, scowling and wand outstretched. Moody seemed to have grown again over the summer and looked to have managed some semblance of a haircut as well, although his auburn colored hair still fell periodically into his face.

"There a problem here Tom?"

"No problem at all. Just a clumsy first year I was helping up," Tom explained, stepping to one side. The boy stayed where he was, looking back and forth between Tom and Moody.

"Get back to wherever it is you're sitting Albert," Moody sighed, motioning with his wand.

"I'm a second year," Albert said firmly, ignoring Moody and instead glaring up at Tom. "A Gryffindor second year."

"Oh well that certainly explains everything," Tom said, wand at his side as Albert passed. "Gryffindors are always walking about as though they own the world."

Moody's face began to turn red, an early warning sign that Tom had no intention of minding. If Moody wanted to get himself into trouble on the Hogwarts Express, Tom would be happy to oblige. Impressively however, Moody remained silent, seizing hold of Albert's shoulder and pushing the smaller boy behind him. With Albert peering around one side of Moody, Tom suddenly realized why the younger boy had seemed so familiar.

"You didn't tell me you had a brother, Moody," Tom stepped away from the wall now, barely four feet from the older Gryffindor.

"None of your business," Moody muttered, turning to look over his shoulder at Albert. "I said get back to where you're sitting Bert."

Frowning up at his elder sibling, Albert raced away down the corridor, disappearing into an open compartment. The door slammed in the background and then Moody turned his attention back to Tom. Metal rolled on metal, skipped and screeched along, and for a moment or two the noise of the train was the only noise at all. Tom was perfectly content to wait, wand at the ready at his side. A door rolled open to Moody's right, and two more sixth year boys emerged, frowning worriedly and wands raised. The dark haired boy with round, owlish glasses was Pritchett, a Ravenclaw and a muggleborn, if Tom recalled correctly. The slim, sandy haired fellow was Goodchild, who had been to a number of Slug Club parties in the past. Tom had never especially cared for Goodchild, largely because he chose to hang around with bothersome types like Moody.

"Told you I'd handle it," Moody glowered at his two friends and lowered his wand to his side.

"You were taking a bit long," Pritchett cast a sideways glance at Tom. "Is it always going to be you, Tom?"

Tom shrugged, pushing his bag around so that the strap did not impede his movements. If this all came down to a three on one duel, he needed full range of motion.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean. Any more friends waiting to jump to your aid Moody? Where's that giant of yours?"

Typically, Moody was usually not seen without the exceptionally tall Scotsman, Tiberius Kirk, somewhere nearby. At the moment however, Kirk appeared to be nowhere in sight.

"Prefect's meeting," Moody said flatly. "With Minerva."

Tom had entirely forgotten about Minerva McGonagall, the third member of Kirk and Moody's little Gryffindor trio. He smiled, twirling his wand between his fingers.

"I'll be sure and tell her hello then."

Moody stiffened, wand swinging upward once more. Pritchett made an effort to push Moody's arm down as Tom watched, smirking.

"S-shouldn't you b-be staying out of t-trouble, if you're a-a prefect a-and all?" Goodchild spoke up at last, stammering as always. Tom had been under the impression that one grew out of such speaking habits over time, but apparently he was mistaken, in the case of Goodchild at least.

"S-sorry, didn't catch that."

Tom simply could not resist, and Goodchild's face flooded red, mouth working furiously even as no sound came out. While Goodchild stood frozen, Moody and Pritchett were both moving quite abruptly. Tom was unsure whether Pritchett was trying to catch Moody or aid him, but either way Tom suddenly found himself pinned quite firmly to the wall. The nearby doors shook at the force of the impact, and a few curious faces began to lean out into the hall.

"Now now," Tom tapped his prefect's badge with the end of his wand, voice low. "Let's all play nice."

Moody grumbled something about bloody Slytherins, but glanced around at the growing crowd of witnesses and released his hold. On the opposite side, Pritchett did the same. Tom made a great show of dusting off his robes and checking his bag.

"I do believe that'll be five points from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. And five from Hufflepuff, since Goodchild clearly has such dismal tastes in friends."

"Least he can say he's got friends," Pritchett scowled, pushing his glasses back into place. Tom merely smiled, the jab entirely useless. Rough hands grabbed him by the shoulder of his robe and propelled him forward, sending him staggering down the corridor.

"Get moving Tom," Moody said, voice dangerously level. "And if I catch you messing with Bert again that badge won't protect you."

"I'll be sure and keep that in mind," Tom smiled darkly, straightening his robes once more as he passed through the car door. The three sixth years watched him go, Moody in the middle, still scowling. Shutting the door and dispelling the crowd of watchers, Tom spun on his heels and checked his watch. Just enough time to reach the meeting without actually being late. Tom hurried along, mood steadily improving as he went. Moody would be sorry, soon enough. A few more lines in the journal, a few more codes to break, and then everyone would be sorry.

The door to the prefect's car was guarded by none other than the towering Tiberius Kirk himself, who scowled down at Tom.

"They made you a prefect?"

"I rather think I've earned the job," Tom said.

"Course you do," Tiberius rolled his eyes. "Go on inside. We're about ta start."

Tom pushed open the door, smirking at Tiberius' continued grumbling. Inside the prefect's car turned out to rather resemble the rest of the train, only without separate compartments. The benches were all lined up in orderly rows, and quite a number of prefects had already arrived. Most were faces Tom recognized, more or less. Lucy Pendergast, a girl in his year, seemed to have been made the other Slytherin prefect and was smiling at him very determinedly. Matthew MacMillan and Amelia Bones, sixth year Hufflepuffs, paused in their conversation to watch him, plainly a bit surprised.

"I think you must be in the wrong place."

Tom glanced to his right to see Minerva McGonagall already seated, a book in her lap and glasses balanced precariously on the end of her nose. Her dark hair was loose and curly, free of her usual braid.

"I have the badge," Tom gestured towards the badge in question and wondered how often he was going to have to use that particular motion.

"I see that," Minerva said, sounding as though she wished she did not. She returned her attention to her book and Tom took the opportunity to seat himself beside her. The only downside of his summer was that with so little time at the orphanage, Tom had been without anyone to serve as his entertainment. The girls at the orphanage had always been far too easy to toy with though. Perhaps a witch like Minerva would prove more of challenge. If nothing else, toying with Minerva McGonagall would elicit a reaction from Alastor Moody, and Tom certainly would not mind landing the temperamental Gryffindor in trouble.

"Tiberius will not be happy to discover you've taken his seat," Minerva turned the page of her book without ever looking up.

"Perhaps I'd rather sit here," Tom offered, raising an eyebrow. Minerva glanced up at him this time, disbelief evident in her features.

"I can't imagine why. Especially since Ms. Pendergast is trying so hard to get your attention."

Lucy Pendergast was indeed still smiling in his direction, occasionally adding in a wave and a pointed look at the empty seat beside her. Tom smiled weakly but otherwise made no acknowledgment.

"And yet here I think is the better company."

If Minerva had been disbelieving before, she looked plainly startled now.

"What?"

Just beginning to enjoy himself, Tom leaned in, secretly a bit pleased when Minerva leaned away. Before he could speak however, two fingers tapped him on the shoulder. The moment was broken, and cursing to himself Tom turned to find Tiberius Kirk glowering down at him, arms crossed.

"I thought you were the doorman for this event," Tom raised an eyebrow, more irritated by the interruption than he was willing to show.

"Doorman's got ta have a seat too," Kirk said slowly, straightening up to his full height, mop of curly brown hair barely inches from the ceiling. "And you're in mine."

Tom rose slowly, stepping to one side and allowing Kirk to pass.

"Oh," Tom leaned down again, voice low for only Minerva to hear. "Your friend Moody. He says hello. And may I say the fellow's temper only seems to be getting worse."

Tom shook his head, frowning in mock concern. Minerva gasped as Tom stood upright, and he knew without looking that as he walked away she was whispering urgently to Kirk. Let them wonder what he had done, Tom decided. Let them worry about Moody for the rest of the train ride. Crossing the compartment, Tom seated himself beside a very pleased Lucy Pendergast, setting his bag on the floor and stretching his legs out in front of him. The last remaining prefects filed in, scurrying for seats and saying hello to friends. Tom watched them all with amused disdain, ignoring the glares being sent his direction by Kirk and McGonagall. Soon enough, the Chamber would be open, and soon they would all be sorry.


	2. Carriages and Caring

A/N - And now, back to our regularly scheduled PoVs. ;) I'm hoping to get another chapter posted in the next day or so, but in case that doesn't work out, then I'll go ahead wish a very Merry Christmas to everybody! And now, on to the fic...

* * *

The train came to a slow, screeching halt, all wrenching metal and steam and loud, shrill whistle. Alastor had, in all honesty, never been happier to be departing the Hogwarts Express. He rose from his seat a bit too quickly, stumbling forward as the train jerked one final time. Donald Pritchett, who had been sitting in the opposite seat, looked mildly panicked for a moment, eyes wider than usual behind his owlish glasses.

"I'd rather appreciate it if you'd try not to crush me. We've nearly made it to the school after all and I was rather hoping to reach sixth year."

"No worries Don," Alastor steadied himself, one hand against the window, "I've impeccable balance."

"On a broom maybe," Donald allowed, still looking rather dubious as he stood up. Alastor rolled his eyes and took a half-playful swing at Donald, who dodged out of the way only to tumble back down onto the bench. Geoffery Goodchild had been attempting to retrieve his trunk from the rack and instead doubled over laughing.

"A-and you're giving Alastor a t-time for b-being c-clumsy?"

Geoffery's stutter had admittedly grown a bit less frequent over the years, but any time he spoke in a rush of either excitement or anger, Geoffery became exceedingly difficult to understand. Not that Alastor would ever have dared comment on the matter. In fact, Alastor had been known to hex or hit anyone who did dare to comment. That was, after all, how Alastor had befriended Geoffery in the first place. Recovering from the fit of laughter, Geoffery wiped his eyes and resumed the struggle with his trunk. Alastor meanwhile offered one hand to Donald, easily hauling the smaller boy to his feet.

"Surprised you're still here anyway," Donald mumbled. Alastor was barely listening, already turned around and hauling his own trunk off the rack. The train would be emptying quickly and if he hurried, he could probably catch up with Minerva and Tiberius before they reached the carriages. Alastor liked Donald and Geoffery perfectly well, and both boys were good friends and good company. But Tiberius and Minerva held the sole honor of being Alastor's best friends. They just also happened to hold the more unfortunate honor of being Gryffindor prefects.

"You k-know, it's a heavy trunk, and s-some of us aren't exactly built like Beaters," Geoffery grumbled, crossing his arms and pointedly glaring at Alastor. Some of the effect was lost as his trunk finally tumbled down from the rack behind him, banging sharply on first the edge of the bench and then the floor. Donald shook his head, pointing his wand at his own trunk.

"Firstly, I wasn't talking to you. And secondly, we are wizards, Geoffery. Sixth years, if I might add."

Here Donald twisted his wand sharply and the trunk was levitated soundlessly to the floor. Frowning now, Geoffery retrieved his own wand and gave a half-hearted prod in the direction of his trunk. For a moment, nothing happened. Donald was just about to critique Geoffery's wand work when the trunk wobbled a bit and then fell backwards, knocking open the door. Rippling laughter and the rush of conversation poured into the compartment as more than a few students were forced to step over or around Geoffery's trunk.

"Why is it t-that it's always the m-muggleborn who's telling us to use magic? Not that I m-mean that in a b-bad w-way, mind you. S-sort of a compliment," Geoffery added hastily.

"You forget that apart from being a muggleborn, I am also a Ravenclaw and thus boundlessly intelligent," Donald said solemnly, face impressively straight. "Perhaps even the smartest in our year."

"Oh," Alastor shook his head, grinning, "Don't let Minerva hear you say that. She'll be challenging you to some sort of battle of wits."

Donald seemed to brighten at this prospect, as he tended to do when faced with some new and exciting puzzle. Alastor had not been speaking lightly, however. Knowing Minerva, she really would challenge Donald to some manner of duel. She might have all the brains of a Ravenclaw, but she was thoroughly a Gryffindor at heart. Alastor fully intended to point this fact out until Geoffery interrupted.

"T-there's another 'w-why's it always moment'," Geoffery muttered, trunk once more upright and braced against one wall so that only half the corridor happened to be blocked rather than the entire thing. "Why've y-you always got to bring Minerva into a c-conversation?"

Alastor's temper flared, quick and hot as always. He swore once or twice, mostly under his breath, felt his face go red, and raised his wand in the direction of Geoffery. The blond boy had clearly expected this reaction, already fumbling backwards through the door, never breaking eye contact.

"You know, you handled that business with Tom Riddle rather well," Donald said slowly, stepping between Alastor and Geoffery. "Surprisingly well, in fact."

That much would certainly be true, Alastor had to agree. Albert might have been his younger brother, and Albert certainly tended to get in the way, but Alastor was supposed to be looking out for him nonetheless. That meant that no one, not Tom Riddle or anyone else, laid a hand on Albert Moody unless they had some sort of death wish. Alastor had been seeing red, utterly furious as he stared down Riddle in the corridor, and really only the arrival of Donald and Geoffery had kept him from doing anything too incredibly stupid. But Riddle's mention of Minerva, his cold eyes and thin smile, had threatened to undo Alastor's tenuous self-control. Alastor did not exceptionally enjoy the thought of Minerva with any other boy, but the thought of her with Tom Riddle not only infuriated him, but also scared him more than he would ever willingly admit.

"What's your point, Don?" Alastor growled, wand still pointed at Geoffery. By now Geoffery had managed to stagger his way through the passing stream of students and trunks, knocking over someone's caged owl in the process.

"Would be a shame, after doing so well the whole way here, to get into trouble now," Donald pointed out. "Especially for getting into a fight with a friend over something like this. Minerva probably wouldn't be particularly happy."

Alastor grumbled and swore again, but did stuff his wand back into his pocket. Reaching behind him with one hand, he seized his trunk, pushing past Donald and into the hall. Geoffery stayed safely out of reach, pressed against the wall next to his trunk and waving at a passing group of Hufflepuffs.

"Best w-we get moving, or all t-the carriages will b-be taken," Geoffery pointed toward the door, smiling broadly and apparently perfectly willing to pretend nothing had happened. Alastor appreciated the effort at least.

"Suppose Tiberius and Minerva are wondering what happened to us."

"Exactly," Donald declared, sounding very pleased with himself. Alastor frowned over his shoulder at the Ravenclaw boy.

"What you on about?"

"That's what I meant earlier. When I said I was surprised you were still here. There. Hmm," Donald paused for a moment, apparently debating on the proper word to use. Enough time passed for Geoffery to nearly fall down the stairs and be saved by Alastor, who managed to catch hold of Geoffery's trunk. The catch had been rather impressive, if Alastor did say so himself.

"Y-you planning on f-finishing any time soon?" Geoffery asked, depositing his trunk in the steadily growing pile of Hogwarts luggage.

"Oh! Yes. Anyway. What I meant was, I was surprised Alastor hadn't run off to find Minerva by now," Donald smiled proudly. Alastor very nearly punched him in the face.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly...what it sounds like?" Donald's smile began to fade.

"Come o-on mate," Geoffery threw an arm over Alastor's shoulder in an effort to defuse the situation. "He's j-just having a bit o-of fun."

"Don't see what's so funny about that," Alastor grumbled, sliding his trunk into the pile and adding a kick for good measure. "Or why suddenly everyone wants to talk about Minerva."

Donald blinked a few times, looking even more owlish than usual and remaining entirely silent. Instead Geoffery, after a moment of consideration, decided to answer.

"Well, you've b-been following h-her about since first y-year."

"She's my best friend," Alastor said hurriedly. "Or best girl friend. Best friend who's also a girl."

Geoffery snickered but seemed otherwise willing to accept this explanation, for now at least. The boys waited among the crowd of students, all but oblivious to the hum and chatter of conversation around them. Alastor raised up on his toes in an effort to spot Minerva or Tiberius. In the dark, surrounded by students wearing dark robes, picking out a dark haired girl turned out to be a very difficult task indeed. Alastor settled instead for searching for Tiberius' lanky form instead. Tiberius Kirk stood well taller than any other Hogwarts student, and honestly taller than anyone Alastor had ever seen for that matter. Spotting the towering Scotsman seemed much easier than the alternative at the moment.

"You know what I think?" Donald asked, breaking the silence.

"Besides too much?" Alastor countered, eyebrows raised. Donald ignored the jab and continued.

"I think last year...something happened with you and Minerva."

Alastor had been half turning to his right, because there had been a flash of moonlight on glasses and perhaps that girl there was Minerva. At Donald's words, however, Alastor froze instantly, heart pounding in his ears.

"What makes you say that?"

"Midway through the year you two quit speaking for a few weeks. And then even after that, there was always something different," Donald mused.

Of course, Donald was unfortunately quite right, much to Alastor's discomfort. Part of the way through fifth year, Alastor and Minerva had kissed. Not exactly deliberately, and she had certainly kissed him first. But then he had kissed back, and suddenly Alastor had realized that he might actually be in love. Minerva had avoided him impressively though, and even when he finally did have the chance to talk to her, she had said, in no uncertain terms, that she did not want things to change between them. Merlin, but that had hurt awfully, though Alastor would never tell a soul just how awfully. Minerva wanted things to stay the same, and Alastor would do absolutely anything for her. He had spent the rest of the year pretending nothing had happened. He had tried to ignore the awful ache in his chest and the butterflies in his stomach anytime Minerva sat beside him or smiled at him. And he had certainly come to hate the phrase "_What's a kiss or two between friends?"_ But Alastor would rather die than tell Donald Pritchett the truth about any of this.

Geoffery was watching them both curiously now, frowning and glancing from Donald to Alastor and back again. Donald's expression looked infuriatingly as though he was working through a test that he already knew the answers to, and Alastor had the distinct impression that he was rather trapped. A hand seized hold of his wrist though, tugging gently, and Alastor found himself rescued by none other than Minerva McGonagall herself. She was smiling, dark hair falling in loose curls and Merlin but she looked beautiful. Alastor could not help but smile. Minerva's hands were quite suddenly on either side of his face, eyes searching from behind her glasses, and for a moment Alastor thought she was going to kiss him. Her search ended quickly though, a smile stretching across her face, and she wasted no further time before hugging him around the neck.

"We've been looking everywhere for you."

"I'm not exactly easy to miss." Alastor tugged at a lock of his auburn hair, grinning. Beside Minerva, an exceptionally tall shape emerged from the shadows, revealed by the lamp light to be Tiberius Kirk. Tiberius had an odd sort of look on his face, almost a relieved expression. The same expression that usually occurred when Alastor had managed to avoid another fight. Now that Alastor's was looking though, something of the same relieved nature seemed to be present in Minerva's eyes as well.

"Did I miss something?" Alastor frowned.

"Oh...just. Tom was talking about you," Minerva said. "I was just a bit...well...anyway."

"I donnae think you get ta complain about being noticeable," Tiberius interrupted, punching Alastor lightly in the shoulder for good measure. "I've had three different first years asking if I'm a giant."

"A-are you?" Geoffery spoke up now. Tiberius raised an eyebrow and frowned a bit, so Geoffery hastily added, "Just a-always sort of w-wondered."

A carriage rolled to a stop just beside the group of sixth years, and Tiberius gave a mock bow, gesturing grandly.

"I do believe this is our carriage, gentlemen. Ah, and lady, of course," Tiberius grinned at Minerva, who rolled her eyes even as she dropped a quick curtsey.

"You're too kind."

"You going to need help?" Alastor asked without thinking, and felt his face go red at the odd looks he earned from the other three boys. Thankfully, Minerva merely shook her head, all but smirking at him as she climbed into the carriage with great ease. Alastor wondered if perhaps the earth could just swallow him now, or that would be asking too much.

"Has she ever needed help?" Tiberius whispered, clearly trying not to laugh.

"Shut it you. I know where you'll be sleeping tonight," Alastor growled, motioning for Geoffery and Donald to go ahead and climb up. Geoffery managed this easily enough, but Alastor was a bit pleased when Donald stumbled and nearly fell, the smug look abruptly vanishing from the Ravenclaw boy's face.

"Easy there Donny," Tiberius laughed, climbing up next. Alastor entered last, a bit surprised when a hand suddenly reached down into his field of vision.

"You going to need help?" Minerva asked lightly, only the barest hint of a smirk on her face. For a moment, Alastor briefly entertained the thought of seizing her hand and pulling her over the side of the carriage. Minerva would probably hex him though, and so Alastor merely sent a very pointed look in her direction and ignored her hand entirely. The moment he fell into a seat, the carriage began to move, rolling along in line behind its counterparts.

Alastor found himself seated between Geoffery and Minerva, and was very much aware of just how close Minerva happened to be sitting. Tilting his head back, elbows propped on the side of the carriage, Alastor breathed deep of the clean, open air, smiled up at the stars, and was for the hundredth time that day incredibly thankful to be free of London.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" Minerva asked, following his gaze skyward. Alastor glanced sideways at her, brief as possible, and ignored the unpleasant ache in his chest.

"Just glad to be back I suppose."

"Alastor, i-in a good mood?" Geoffery snorted. "I d-don't believe it."  
"Could be a sign of the end of the world," Donald began counting on his fingers, much to the amusement of Tiberius. "Or he's under some sort of spell. Perhaps he's not the real Alastor, just someone using Polyjuice to look like him. He could have suffered some sort of severe brain injury over the summer..."

The list earned laughter from all occupants of the carriage, even Alastor himself, though he felt rather confident his face had begun to go pink again.

"You been hit in tha head with any Bludgers lately?" Tiberius asked, attempting to be serious and failing badly. Alastor pretended to consider this for a moment, then shook his head.

"Not that I'm aware of."

"He wouldn't remember it of course," Donald said importantly, pushing his glasses back into place once more.

"I know how to tell if he's the real Alastor," Minerva snapped her fingers, grinning slyly as she leaned in close, whispering in Alastor's ear. "After the fight last year, when I stayed up to wait for you. What happened?"

Alastor choked, literally, face going abruptly red. Minerva laughed, patting his shoulder as she leaned back into her own seat.

"It's definitely Alastor," she declared.

"Oh y-you've got t-to t-tell us!" Geoffery insisted, all but howling with laughter. "W-what did y-you say?"

"Why do I feel as though I've a fair idea?" Tiberius looked as though he could not entirely decide whether the incident was funny or not. Either way, Geoffery rounded on Tiberius eagerly.

"C-come on t-then, w-what is it?"

"I can't help but feel as though we're missing out by not knowing," Donald said coolly.

Alastor glowered at Tiberius, willing his friend not to say a word. Donald and Geoffery might have had no idea about what had happened last year, but Tiberius certainly knew. Well honestly, Tiberius had demanded to know after pulling Alastor out of a midnight duel, roundly insisting to be told the reason for Alastor's worse-than-usual temper. Tiberius locked eyes with Alastor, shaking his head ever so slightly. Thankfully, before either Geoffery or Donald could decide to press the matter further, the carriage rolled to a halt.

"Well gentlemen, I do believe this is our stop," Minerva smiled, already moving almost before the carriage stopped. At least, Alastor noted, that meant he could avoid making a fool of himself twice. The boys climbed down, brushing off and readjusting robes as soon as their feet were on solid ground. The doors to the entrance hall were wide open, warm light spilling down the stone steps that led up to the castle. Donald's stomach growled and effectively ruined the moment.

"And on that note," Donald grinned sheepishly, "I think I shall depart to find the rest of my dear housemates. I'll see you all later."

Alastor waved, watching as Donald vanished to a nearby crowd of Ravenclaws. Geoffery too was already several steps ahead, pointing toward the entrance with his thumb.

"I'm off as w-well. See if y-you can't stay out of trouble?"

"Of course," Tiberius feigned shock. Geoffery laughed and shook his head, then turned and jogged up the stairs toward the castle.

Tiberius paused for a moment, hands in his pockets as he surveyed the castle, apparently ignoring the passing crowd around him. Minerva took the opportunity to make her way up the steps, pulling Alastor along behind her.

"You didn't mind my tactics did you?"

"Tactics?" Alastor frowned confusedly.

"On the carriage. For making sure you were really you," Minerva explained.

"Oh! Oh, no. No, I didn't mind. Don't mind. Whichever," Alastor winced a bit, hearing himself and wishing he could manage not to grow entirely this flustered when talking to Minerva. She did not seem to mind, not that she ever seemed to mind really, and the pair of them waited on the top step for Tiberius to catch up. Tiberius' long legs managed the stairs in a few easy strides, hands still in his pockets.

"You know, I was just think-Hello."

A bit surprised by Tiberius' sudden change in word and tone, not to mention the distinctive scowl that the Scotsman now wore, Alastor glanced over his shoulder and realized that someone else had approached. Two someones, in fact. Both were girls in Ravenclaw robes, one blond, the other brunette. The blond girl, Rosie Priest, appeared to be scowling in Tiberius' general direction. The brunette, Mirabell McKinnon, was quite pointedly staring at Alastor himself.

"Ah...hello," Alastor managed, casting a pleading glance toward first Minerva, then Tiberius. Tiberius was still busy with his scowling match, and Minerva had gone utterly silent, arms crossed.

"How was your summer Alastor?" Mirabell asked.

"Fine, thanks. Yours?" Alastor swung one elbow back as discreetly as possible in an effort to draw Tiberius' attention. Mirabell smiled prettily up at him, twirling a lock of her hair around one finger.

"Oh very nice. We went to Wales, it was lovely."

"That's...fantastic," Alastor said. "Ah, well, it was nice seeing you, Mirabell, and-"

Mirabell shook her head, stepping closer. Alastor would have sworn he saw Minerva stiffen and scowl.

"You can call me Bell. Most everyone else does."

"Alright then, Bell, it was nice seeing you. I expect I'll see you in class," Alastor made another effort to draw someone's attention, to no avail. Why precisely his friends had chosen this time to enter some sort of scowling contest and abandon him to Bell McKinnon was entirely beyond him. Bell for her part looked positively overjoyed at the thought of classes. Far too overjoyed, in Alastor's opinion.

"I'm sure it'll be wonderful. Come on then Rosie, we'd better go find seats," Bell smiled again, seizing hold of Rosie's wrist. This method seemed more effective than Alastor's tactic had been, because Rosie spun on her heels almost instantly, trailing after Bell.

"Well that was...odd," Alastor frowned, managing a quick smile as Bell waved one last time in his direction. "Thanks for all the help, by the way."

"Sorry mate. We're mortal enemies, you see," Tiberius explained, still faintly scowling and apparently quite serious.

"Rubbish. Since when?" Alastor demanded.

"Since third year, for your information. She was a right little bully."

Alastor rolled his eyes, fully aware of the incidents Tiberius was referring to.

"So she hexed a few of your school things three years ago, and that makes you mortal enemies?"

"My quill sang, Alastor. It sang in every bloody class," Tiberius said darkly. Alastor sighed and shook his head, turning his attention now to Minerva, who still had yet to move or speak. She seemed to have fallen into the look that had last year been labelled as her intimidating prefect stare.

"You alright?" Alastor asked.

"Fine," Minerva said shortly, sounding anything but, "Just fine. Sometimes I wonder how girls like that get into Ravenclaw."

"Girls that are bullies?" Tiberius guessed, clearly not willing to let the matter drop.

"No. Well. I suppose. Mostly girls like Bell McKinnon," Minerva gestured in the direction of the entrance hall, where Bell and Rosie had disappeared into the crowd of students.

"Well," Alastor considered this for a moment, "They were very pretty."

Minerva's intimidating prefect stare suddenly settled on Alastor, much to his great discomfort. Before he could say anything else, Minerva sighed irritatedly and stormed away, fists clenched at her side.

"What just happened?" Alastor asked after a moment, feeling as though someone had hit him with a confundus charm. Tiberius shrugged, looking just as confused as Alastor felt.

"No idea."

"They were pretty," defending this point seemed to be of some importance, Alastor decided.

"McKinnon, sure," Tiberius allowed. "Priest...I donnae think I'd go that far. The personality rather cancels out the looks."

"Don't you think that's a bit unfair?" Alastor began to walk away before Tiberius could have time to start some long explanation.

"Singing. Quill," Tiberius repeated, following along behind.

"If you insist. Come on, we probably ought to find Minerva before the sorting starts," Alastor gestured toward the rapidly thinning crowd of students in the entrance hall. He suddenly had a serious sense of worry that he had perhaps said something to upset Minerva. This seemed a bit unfair, however, because Minerva had in fact been the one to say that things ought not to change. Why in Merlin's name should she care which girls Alastor thought were pretty?


	3. Conflict of Interest

A/N - Hope you all had a lovely Christmas! Now let's see if I can't get another chapter up before New Years...(not counting this one, of course)

* * *

The next morning found a few students awake and present in the Great Hall for an early breakfast, Minerva McGonagall among them. Unfortunately, neither a good night's sleep nor the company of the girls in her dormitory had managed to at all brighten Minerva's rather dismal mood. Her excitement at returning to Hogwarts had been quite effectively dampened by the untimely appearance of Bell McKinnon. Well, perhaps not Bell herself, Minerva allowed. Not entirely anyway. Minerva's present mood had far more to do with Alastor.

"I just don't understand how he could say something like that!" Minerva stabbed her fork through a piece of toast, sheerly for emphasis. Beside her, Augusta Prewett glanced up from her own breakfast. Augusta had already heard this particular rant twice before but seemed perfectly content to allow Minerva a third time.

"Lots of other boys think the same thing," Augusta declared, apparently not as content to hear the same lecture as Minerva had hoped. Here ideally was the part where Augusta was supposed to inquire as to what precisely Alastor had said. Minerva would then dutifully convey the words, and Augusta would react with appropriate horror, and the conversation would go on from there. At no point was Augusta supposed to admit that Alastor might in fact be even marginally correct, and Minerva told her so in no uncertain terms.

"Look here," Augusta sighed, abandoning her breakfast entirely and turning to face Minerva. "You're the one who told him you only wanted to be friends, yes?"

"Well, yes, but -" Minerva attempted to argue, but Augusta raised a hand and cut her off. Augusta was understanding and patient, but only to a point, and she rather detested any sort of complaints. Especially when said complaints came about as a direct result of the complainers actions. Minerva figured she really ought to have remembered that.

"Yes. Yes, I told him that," Minerva said matter of factly. Augusta seemed much more pleased with this response.

"You're the one who told him you didn't want the friendship to change."

"Yes," Minerva agreed again, this time through gritted teeth.

"Then as much as it pains me to say this, you really haven't got much place to be upset whenever Alastor shows any interest in someone else," Augusta said. Somehow, Minerva had a feeling that Augusta was not at all pained by the statement, but she did appreciate the effort.

"Are you going to add some form of threat, or was that all?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean," Augusta shifted in her seat again, attention now very determinedly on her breakfast. "Although if you continue going on about this I wouldn't be too terribly surprised if your schoolbooks started dancing in the middle of class."

Realistically speaking, Augusta was in fact quite right about the whole mess with Alastor. Minerva would of course never admit this, as Augusta already thought highly enough of herself and there was no sense adding to the problem. Still, Minerva could not deny that the mess was anything but her own fault. The thought caused an unpleasant twist in her stomach, the same sort of twist that had struck yesterday upon seeing Alastor talking to Bell. The same sort of twist that had plagued her since mid-November of last year. Minerva poked her toast around the plate a few times, trying to sort out how precisely her friendship with Alastor had become quite so complicated.

She had kissed him, for one. Safe to say that was probably the origin of the issue. At the time though, kissing Alastor had seemed like exactly the right thing to do. Only, Minerva had not at all been prepared for the sudden, jarring shift that had come with the kiss. Her feelings for Alastor had admittedly been slowly changing all the way up until that point, drawing closer to some great defining edge. The kiss had not only closed the distance to that edge, but also quite effectively gone ahead and thrown Minerva over for good measure. She had reacted badly, and she had avoided him, and when finally cornered she had panicked a bit and told him she did not want things to change. Now that she had time to think properly about the matter, however, Minerva found herself wondering if perhaps she had made the wrong decision.

"That toast do something to offend you?"

Minerva glanced up sharply to see Alastor himself standing on the opposite side of the table. He was grinning at her, auburn hair still a bit unkempt and robes as neat and clean as they would be all year. Overall he looked rather handsome, and the unpleasant twist in Minerva's stomach abruptly shifted into butterflies. Minerva cursed those butterflies and hoped they died horrible deaths. Alastor sat down without waiting for a reply, Tiberius beside him. The tables in the Great Hall had evidently not been built with anyone of Tiberius' height in mind, as Tiberius nearly always managed to bash his knees at least once. One long-fingered hand snaked out and made a grab for Minerva's toast.

"If you're just going ta poke holes in it," Tiberius said, all mock solemnity, "Then there's a certain starving Scotsman who'd be happy ta have your breakfast."

Alastor snickered, heaping food onto his own plate, but Minerva just rolled her eyes and allowed Tiberius to steal the rest of her toast. Allowed of course meant that she only made a half-hearted effort to catch his hand with her fork, and only actually caught him once by accident. Tiberius still acted as if he had been mortally injured.

"All I ask fer is food, and you go on and stab me!"

"Cheer up Tiberius," Augusta spoke up, pushing her own plate to one side. "If you'd tried to steal my breakfast, I'd have just hexed you."

Tiberius considered this threat for a moment and looked to be genuinely prepared to make some sort of attempt. Minerva shook her head, smiling and catching Alastor's eye. Had his mouth not been full of food, Minerva felt rather confident that he would have been laughing quite loudly. Sure enough, Alastor swallowed hurriedly, coughing and choking a bit but in the end definitely laughing.

"I wouldn't try it mate. She's not joking."

"Maybe I'll just have a bit of yours then," Tiberius said, winking at Minerva as he reached sideways toward Alastor's plate. Alastor sobered instantly, attempting to push his breakfast out of Tiberius' reach. A difficult feat, given the long reach of Tiberius' arm, but somehow Alastor managed.

"I wouldn't even bother hexing you," Alastor said stiffly. "I'll just hit you."

"And here I'd forgotten what a charming fellow you are in the mornings," Augusta said dryly. Tiberius seemed a bit incredulous.

"In tha mornings? He threatens ta hit people all day."

"Rubbish," Alastor shook his head, "Not quite all day."

"No. Usually not at meal times, and not when you're asleep," Minerva counted on her fingers, grinning at the round of laughter this observation earned. Alastor turned a bit pink and for a moment looked about to argue further, then merely smiled sheepishly and turned his attention to his plate.

Owls began to fly into the hall, quite a large number of them weighed down with packages. Minerva found herself watching for her father's owl, but was not especially surprised when the owl did not appear. Her parents had been at Kings Cross yesterday to see off Minerva and her younger brother after all. The only time Minerva had ever actually received any sort of letter on the first day of term was when her parents wrote to congratulate her on being sorted to Gryffindor. Augusta paid no attention at all to the owls, and neither did Alastor. Only Tiberius seemed to be watching for one particular bird or another.

"You expecting a package?" Minerva asked.

"No," Tiberius smiled tightly, "Taken out a subscription to tha Prophet, actually."

Sure enough, a large brown owl swooped in low over the Gryffindor table, landing with a thump in front of Tiberius. After a moment or two of digging in his pockets for the right change, Tiberius paid the owl and retrieved his newspaper. The bird had barely flown away before Tiberius and Alastor had both pushed their plates to the side and the paper was stretched open across the table, pictures moving and flashing in black and white. News of the war covered every page, reports on the movements of the muggle armies and Grindelwald's forces. Even upside down, some of the pictures were dark and grim and Minerva shuddered in spite her best efforts. The world had been at war almost as long as Minerva had been at Hogwarts, a grim reality that lay outside the safe walls of the school. She spent enough time at home during holidays hearing all the latest news, thanks to her father's compulsive attention to any and every wireless broadcast. Minerva thus did not share Tiberius and Alastor's grim enthusiasm for collecting news on he war while at school.

"You heard from your da recently, Alastor?" Tiberius asked quietly, gaze shifting sideways toward his friend. Alastor had by this point lost interest in his breakfast in favor of an interview with three wizards who had recently escaped an enemy prison camp, and thus failed to hear Tiberius' question.

"Alastor," Minerva tried this time, and succeeded in drawing most, if not all, of Alastor's attention away from the paper.

"Hmm?"

"Have you heard from you father?"

Minerva had only ever met Adrian Moody once, in the summer before her second year. Mr. Moody was a muggleborn wizard who worked as an automobile repairman, or at least he had before the war. By the time Grindelwald had taken most of the continent, Mr. Moody had joined up with the army, though Minerva had always been a bit unclear as to whether he had joined the muggle or magical forces. Either way, Alastor had not seen his father in years, having to make do with the occasional letter and the even more occasional Floo conversation. Minerva did not remember much about Mr. Moody, save that he seemed to love his sons very much, and that Alastor had grown to look quite a lot like him.

"Had a letter from him back in June, just after school ended," Alastor said slowly. "Though I think it had been delayed, because he wished me good luck on the OWLs."

Silence passed for a moment, as no one else had a relative far away and fighting and thus no one was really sure what best to say next. Alastor dropped his gaze back to the paper, fingers drumming on the table. Without thinking, without giving the butterflies a chance to act, Minerva reached out and placed her hand over Alastor's. The drumming stopped abruptly as he glanced up at her.

"At least you've heard from him. And I'm sure you'll get another letter by your birthday."

"Suppose that could happen," Alastor shrugged, trying not to look too hopeful. Tiberius made a great show of turning the pages of the Prophet, and Augusta coughed time or two as she leaned over to search for something in her school bag. Minerva realized that her hand was still on Alastor's, a fact which he seemed to realize at about the same time. Both of them drew back, Minerva's hands quickly falling into her lap and Alastor's running through his hair. Minerva could feel her face growing red and could plainly see Alastor's doing the same, and the butterflies were back and oh, Merlin, was a nice quiet breakfast with friends too much to ask?

Fortunately, any sort of extended awkwardness was avoided entirely as Charlus Potter chose that moment to appear at the Gryffindor table. A badge was pinned to the outside of his robes – a Quidditch captain's badge, Minerva realized after a brief inspection. A fleeting pang of disappointment reminded her that she had been hoping for the captain's position this year. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind however and instead very determinedly smiled up at Charlus.

"Congratulations."

"Why thank you," Charlus positively beamed, leaning forward and resting one hand on the table and the other on Minerva's shoulder. Alastor's eyes narrowed in the direction of Charlus' hand, but Minerva was the only one to notice. "I'll be honest and say I was a bit surprised."

"I'll be honest and say I'm not," Tiberius laughed. "In fact, I think tha only way I'd be surprised was if Alastor was captain."

Alastor, who had been attempting to commandeer the copy of the Daily Prophet, froze entirely and scowled at Tiberius.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only that you'd be angry all tha time and kick everyone off tha team by tha second week of practice," Tiberius said. For a moment, Minerva was afraid Alastor might hit him. Alastor's temper was the stuff of Gryffindor, if not Hogwarts, legend, and he had been in trouble numerous times over the years for having particularly bad outbursts in the middle of Quidditch practice.

"I wouldn't get rid of everyone. I'd keep Minerva," Alastor's scowl shifted into an easy grin. "And Charlus, suppose I'd keep you around too."

"I appreciate that," Charlus said, pushing his glasses back into place before they could fall off the end of his nose.

"You do realize you'd have to replace the entire rest of the team," Minerva pointed out gently, nodding her head toward Tiberius.

"Wouldn't need them," Alastor insisted. "Everybody knows Gryffindor's the team with the three best Chasers in the school."

"Ye need a seeker ta win tha match," Tiberius growled, crossing his arms and straightening to his full height. Some of the effect was lost as he bashed his knees against the underside of the table and winced. Charlus took the opportunity to intervene before the argument could progress further. Of course, by the look on his face, Minerva guessed he was resigning himself to dealing with Alastor and Tiberius' antics all season. Why this came as a surprise to Charlus was entirely beyond her - he had after all been sharing a dormitory with both boys for the past five years. He really ought to have expected this by now.

"Well, you'll be happy to know that as far as I'm concerned, the only position we need to replace is Keeper. Tryouts for the rest of you are nothing but a formality."

"Rather important position though," Minerva frowned. "Especially for someone starting brand new."

Charlus leaned even further forward now, one elbow on the table and tie dangerously close to falling into the jelly. His face lit up with an eager excitement as he pointed down the table.

"Just so happens I've already solved this problem. I've persuaded Gabriel to try out."

Minerva followed Charlus' gesture to one Gabriel Valentine, seated further down the table and surrounded, as usual, by girls. Gabriel was a sixth year, easygoing, dark haired, and exceedingly handsome, at least in the opinions of most females at Hogwarts. Minerva had fancied, flirted with, and very briefly dated Gabriel during her fourth year. His constant crowd of adoring, and oftentimes jealous, fans had made the whole thing a bit less enjoyable than Minerva had hoped. Gabriel realized that he was being watched by five of his fellow Gryffindors, sending a wave and a brilliant smile in their direction. Once, a smile from Gabriel Valentine had made Minerva's heart flutter. Now all she could think about was how Gabriel's smile was certainly not Alastor's. Merlin but this was beginning to be a problem. She waved back anyway, and Alastor and Tiberius nodded in the direction of their dormitory mate. Augusta seemed to have lost all interest in the current Quidditch conversation, but she did look up from her book long enough to smile in Gabriel's direction.

"Rest assured everyone," Charlus was saying, rapping his knuckles against the table. "This year, the Quidditch Cup is ours."

Seemingly finished with his morning announcements, Charlus straightened up, smoothing his robes and his ever-messy hair. He offered one final smile before striding away towards the end of the table where Gabriel currently sat.

"People are going to complain," Alastor grumbled, "If he puts his best friend on the team."

Minerva had honestly been thinking very much along the same lines. Charlus was a bit obsessive about Quidditch though, and she could not imagine him picking Gabriel for Keeper sheerly because they were friends.

"Maybe he's actually quite good at Keeper. Maybe. Hopefully."

"I expect it'll be hard to do much flying with all those girls clinging to him," Tiberius observed dryly, earning a laugh and an agreeing nod from Alastor. Minerva had to admit, Tiberius certainly had a point.

Breakfast drew to a close as the professors began to work their way around the Great Hall handing out schedules. Professor Dumbledore, Head of Gryffindor House, moved a bit slower than some of the other professors, stopping to chat with various students along the table. Minerva shifted in her seat, fully aware that she had received all the required OWLs for her classes and still quite anxious to be finished with this scheduling business. Her parents and siblings and various other relatives had been asking her all summer what sort of career Minerva intended to aim for, and the truth of the matter was that she had absolutely no idea. Or rather, that she had too many ideas. Sometimes the Auror Department sounded rather appealing, other times a nice quiet job at the Ministry. She could effectively rule out being a Healer at least. Teaching had quite often been an appealing sounding career, but there were no vacancies at Hogwarts and Minerva really could not imagine teaching anyplace else. As NEWT classes were generally decided based on career goals, Minerva was in a bit of trouble. Finally, Professor Dumbledore stopped beside Tiberius, hands full of blank parchment.

"Ms. Prewett, why don't we sort yours out first then."

Augusta, who had been rather conspicuously silent for quite some time now, closed the book she had been reading and sat up a bit straighter as she locked eyes with Professor Dumbledore.

"Alright, sir."

"You seem to have done quite well on your OWLs...or....at least, in everything save for Charms," Professor Dumbledore said gently. Minerva felt rather confident that only Dumbledore would be able to gently point out that someone had entirely failed an OWL test.

"I always thought it was a bit of a weak subject anyway," Augusta said brusquely. "Is it going to be a problem?"

Professor Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

"Not especially, no. Although I'm afraid that it will keep you out of consideration for the Auror Department, if that was still an interest of yours."

"Just a passing interest," Augusta shrugged, eyes dropping to the table. Minerva suspected the interest had been much greater than passing, but did not dare comment.

"In which case, I'm happy to inform you that you've otherwise qualified for NEWT classes," Dumbledore tapped his wand to one of the blank parchments and handed the schedule to Augusta. Then he turned his attention to Tiberius and Alastor, who had been reading the paper again and pretending not to listen.

"Mr. Kirk, Mr. Moody, you are both still certainly on track for the Auror Department. And may I say congratulations on your Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark arts, Mr. Moody. I'm sure Professor Merrythought will be pleased."

"Thank you sir," Alastor grinned proudly. Defense had always been his best subject, just as Transfiguration had always been Minerva's. Tiberius often complained that he had no best subject and was thus horribly left out. Dumbledore conjured two more schedules, handing the first to Alastor and the second to Tiberius. The boys were thus well distracted when Professor Dumbledore seated himself in an empty space on the bench beside Alastor and leaned forward to talk to Minerva.

"Excellent work on your own OWLs, Ms. McGonagall. Do you intend to keep going in all the classes you've qualified in?"

"I think so. Yes. If the scheduling works out," Minerva said.

"The scheduling works out just fine," Dumbledore assured her. He conjured another schedule, but when Minerva reached out to take the parchment Dumbledore hesitated. "Have you in fact decided on what you intend to do with all these OWLs? Or rather, what you intend to do after finishing your NEWT courses?"

"Ah...not really," Minerva blushed a bit, but Dumbledore only smiled again and handed her the schedule.

"Should you ever be in need of an enlightening conversation with your Head of House, my office is always open," Professor Dumbledore stood up and moved on down the table. Only then did Minerva actually look at her schedule. She did not have much time to do so, however, as a hand suddenly appeared in her line of sight.

"What'd you get?" Alastor asked excitedly. Then, sobering a bit as the thought occurred to him, "We'll still be in the same classes, right?"

Minerva pushed her schedule to the middle of the table where three other pieces of parchment were already lined up, a bit pleased to see that she had the most classes. Augusta of course lacked Charms and Ancient Runes, both subjects having been her mortal enemies for the last few years. Alastor's schedule was closest to Minerva's, a fact which brought a smile to both their faces. He seemed to have only dropped History of Magic and Divination. Tiberius, on the other hand, had decided to stay on in Divination. Minerva raised an eyebrow and pointed this out in the schedule.

"Really, Tiberius?"

"I like it," Tiberius said stiffly, frowning and taking back his schedule. "Tis an interesting class."

"It's a rubbish class," Alastor muttered. "Future's not that predictable."

"You only wish it was," Tiberius grumbled, very pointedly looking from Alastor to Minerva. Alastor was almost immediately on his feet, face rapidly reddening and fists clenched. Minerva stood as well, hoping to halt the situation before anything actually happened. Tiberius had been friends with Alastor since first year, long enough not to take any of Alastor's outbursts personally. But still, Minerva would rather avoid detentions or trips to the hospital wing quite this early in the morning on the first day of term.

"I didn't think you were altogether that good at Divination."

"I do well enough," Tiberius looked away from Alastor, pointing toward the Ravenclaw table. "Donny, now he's got a real knack for the subject."

"Donny. You mean Donald Pritchett?" Minerva asked, more than slightly surprised. Sure enough, Tiberius was pointing towards Donald, who Minerva had always thought was too practical to fall for rubbish like Divination. She would have to have a long talk with Donny at some point.

"He's brilliant, I'm telling you," Tiberius insisted. "Even the OWL examiner said so. We could always get him to read your fortune Alastor, I'm sure Donny wouldn't charge for a friend."

Before Alastor could actually decide hitting or hexing was in order, Minerva retrieved her bag and dropped the book-filled object on the table. The whole length of the table shook, sending a few plates skittering away from their owners and earning Minerva a few reproving looks. Fortunately, she also managed to draw the attention of both Alastor and Tiberius.

"We've all got Transfiguration first, haven't we? Wouldn't want to be late on the first day."

For a moment, the boys just looked at her blankly, a bit confused by the sudden shift in conversation. Then Augusta was on her feet, bag over one shoulder, and Alastor bent to retrieve his own schoolbooks, grumbling to himself all the while. Tiberius rose last, towering over the rest of them.

"Why is it," Alastor leaned in closer to Minerva, whispering as they followed Tiberius and Augusta out of the Great Hall. "That you're always intervening?"

"Intervening?" Minerva asked.

"Intervening. You know. Jumping in to stop me," Alastor shrugged, apparently elaborating as much as he intended.

"Perhaps it's because I don't like for you to get into trouble," Minerva said coolly. "Think of it as my way of looking out for you."

"I don't need-" Alastor scowled, beginning to grumble, but Minerva's hand on his shoulder stopped him instantly.

"I know you don't need me to. But I want to, and Merlin someone's got to."

Alastor smiled sideways at her but said no more, though his smile did slip a bit when Minerva's hand fell from his shoulder. They reached the Transfiguration classroom well behind Tiberius and Augusta, and Alastor made a great show of holding the door and bowing as Minerva passed.

Transfiguration was easily Minerva's favorite subject, and an excellent way to begin the morning, in her opinion. Her mood was somewhat dampened, however, when she caught sight of a certain brunette girl who was very enthusiastically waving in the direction of the door. Minerva glanced over her shoulder to see a bemused-looking Alastor waving back. Tiberius, meanwhile, had engaged in yet another scowling match with Rosie Priest. Minerva glanced to Augusta, who was sitting in the front row beside Amelia Bones. Augusta glanced over her shoulder at Bell, pulled a face, and then shrugged. To Minerva's great alarm, Bell slid over in her seat, making room for another person to sit beside her. Based on the ongoing waving, there was little doubt as to who the intended person might be. Scowling overtop of her glasses, Minerva reached behind her and seized hold of Alastor's hand. Admittedly, she had been aiming for his wrist, but his hand worked just as well, even if the butterflies did choose that moment to wake up again.

"Come on, let's go sit with Tiberius."

"I...um...alright," Alastor did not look nearly as baffled as he sounded. In fact, he seemed to look rather pleased. Minerva thought about hexing him on the spot. Bell McKinnon, at least, seemed to lose some of her enthusiasm, whispering to Rosie and glaring quite pointedly in Minerva's direction. Minerva ignored the Ravenclaw girls entirely, smiling serenely as she slid into a seat, Alastor beside her. If the last two days were any indication, Minerva decided, this was going to be a very interesting year.


	4. Of Quidditch and Questing

A/N - Just in time, the last chapter of the year! I hope you all have a very Happy New Year, and have fun celebrating the occasion as well! =)

* * *

Just as predicted, Quidditch tryouts were indeed largely a formality. Charlus was apparently so unconcerned about the whole matter that he waited until the second Friday of term before actually holding trials. This suited Alastor just fine, because by the end of the second week of classes he was quite ready for a break of any sort, though Quidditch was a definite plus. Classes themselves had not yet proved too exceptionally challenging, no worse than fifth year had been at any rate. The issue lay more with the fact that Bell McKinnon had taken to following him around the castle, whether they had class together or not. She had in fact made several appearances in the library in an effort to gain his attention, and had already twice asked for help with Defense work. Alastor had begun to realize that he probably ought to do something about Bell one way or another, and soon, before things got out of hand. She really was rather pretty, even if Minerva seemed to be offended by the very thought, and she could be quite nice. Alastor had thus spent a fair amount of time debating over what precisely to do, having not dared ask Tiberius' opinion on the matter. Quidditch as always was a welcome relief.

Thursday had been a particularly rainy day, but thankfully the weather cleared in plenty of time for the Friday trials. The pitch was still damp, grass squelching beneath Alastor's boots, and he relished the smell of damp air and earth. Swinging a leg over his broom, he kicked off, rocketing skyward and welcoming the burst of adrenaline that always came with flying. He rolled a time or two, practicing maneuvers that were by this point second nature, and barely veered in time to avoid hitting Tiberius, who had flown directly into his path.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" Alastor demanded fiercely, not at all pleased at the sudden interruption. Tiberius merely smiled, leaning back and shrugging, his lanky frame looking far too long for his broom. Height and range did present a certain advantage though, and that was precisely why Tiberius had been the Gryffindor Seeker ever since he hit his apparently never-ending growth spurt.

"Just warming up mate. Though you may want ta take another lap or two. Running into teammates is frowned upon."

Alastor wished he had a Quaffle to throw at his friend's head, but in absence of that made an effort to instead merely push Tiberius from his broom. Built more like a Beater but always a Chaser, Alastor boasted the ability to outmuscle most of his opponents. Unfortunately, Tiberius' grip did not seem about to give anytime soon. Or perhaps that was more of a fortunate fact, as they were indeed quite high off the ground and Charlus would likely be a bit upset if Alastor broke his Seeker's neck.

"Can't you two behave for ten minutes?" Minerva flew over to join them, hair pulled back in a long braid and glasses balanced on the end of her nose. She appeared to be trying to scowl at them with her intimidating prefect look and failing miserably. Alastor adopted the most innocent expression he could manage.

"I was minding my own business til he came along."

"Oh I'm sure," Minerva said dryly. "It's never your own fault."

"Never," Alastor nodded in agreement, ducking in time to avoid being struck in the side of the head. Minerva seemed about to try another swing at him, but fortunately Charlus decided to begin and Alastor was spared any further attacks. He had been hoping that perhaps this year Minerva would not prove to quite as much of a distraction as she had been during last year's Quidditch season, but as Alastor flew along behind her he realized that had been an unlikely hope at best.

Once everyone was back on the ground, Charlus gave a welcome back speech to last year's team, which comprised all but four of the Gryffindors on the pitch. This was not especially surprising, since the Chaser and Seeker positions were quite definitely filled, and had been for years now. Alastor would not have especially minded replacements in the Beater department, but he supposed they could do worse than Scrimgeour and Lockhart. Neither of the fourth years in question seemed to have grown much over the summer, though Lockhart had lost a bit of his gangly thinness.

The hopefuls for Keeper were all students Alastor recognized, more or less. Two of them were third years, a boy and a girl. The boy seemed horribly uncomfortable, shifting nervously from foot to foot, but only the girl's white knuckle grip around her broomstick betrayed her nerves. Thomas Cromwell, a fifth year, was not someone Alastor had ever expected to see near the Quidditch pitch, much less on a broom. Thomas was a nice enough fellow, but a bit on the clumsy side. He might have been made a prefect this year, though Alastor was not entirely sure about that and made note to ask Minerva after practice. The fourth Gryffindor trying out was of course Gabriel Valentine, Charlus Potter's best friend and Alastor's dormitory mate. Alastor had been on good enough terms with him all the way up until fourth year, when Gabriel had dated Minerva for admittedly a rather brief time. Brief or not, Alastor had never really cared for him too much after that. Not to mention, Gabriel always seemed to have at least three girls following him about at all times. Alastor and Tiberius had had numerous conversations complaining about how some fellows just had all the luck and made the rest of them look bad.

"Look there," Tiberius pointed toward the stands, where a fairly large crowd of girls had gathered. "Nice ta see we have an audience."

"I rather doubt they're here for all of us," Alastor muttered, sending a pointed look in the direction of Gabriel. Tiberius shrugged, smirking.

"Oh, I donnae know about that."

Frowning now, Alastor glanced back toward the stands. After a moment of searching, he was not entirely surprised to see Bell waving at him from the front row. Half-hoping no one but Tiberius had seen, Alastor waited until Charlus was gesturing at the goalposts and waved back, grinning a bit sheepishly. Minerva, on the other hand, did seem to notice, following Alastor's gaze to the stands. The moment she caught sight of Bell, Minerva scowled spectacularly. Alastor waved once more for good measure.

At the front of the group, Charlus clapped his hands together, bringing Alastor's attention abruptly back to Quidditch.

"Any questions, or can we begin?" Charlus was positively beaming, his default expression whenever Quidditch happened to be involved in one way or another. No one spoke or raised a hand, though Alastor was tempted to ask a question just to be difficult. He missed his chance though, because Charlus was already on his broom and in full Quidditch-captain mode.

"Brilliant. Kirk, feel free to practice maneuvers or whatever you like. Lockhart, Scrimgeour, grab the Bludgers, will you?"

"We're going to use real Bludgers?" the nervous boy asked. Alastor almost felt sorry for him.

"Of course. Best to get used to the real thing, and the Beaters need the practice," Charlus said matter of factly. "And if someone would grab the Quaffle I'd greatly appreciate it."

Tiberius was already in the air, zooming upward and chasing after nothing in particular, at least not that Alastor could see. Minerva jogged off to retrieve the Quaffle, and Charlus led the four prospective Keepers over toward the goals. Alastor waited patiently for Minerva to return.

"Who do you think it'll be?"

"Well," Minerva paused, holding the Quaffle under one arm. "Gabriel looks to be the best flyer. Thomas seems to be in danger of falling off at any moment."

She was certainly correct, as every few seconds Thomas tilted dangerously one way or another. Alastor sincerely hoped the boy did not actually fall, because he did not particularly like the thought of having to make any diving saves on the first day of practice. Waiting until Minerva was fully focused on the potential players, Alastor swung out and knocked the Quaffle up into the air. By the time Minerva was shouting at him, Alastor was already airborne, snagging the Quaffle with one hand and grinning at her over his shoulder.

"You'll pay for that!" Minerva shook her fist at him, racing to catch up.

"I'm utterly terrified," Alastor shouted back, cutting sharply left. Minerva managed to close in on him, making a valiant effort to snatch the Quaffle from his hand. Alastor finally tossed the ball up into the air, intending to make another sweeping catch. Charlus, however, reached the Quaffle first.

"You two quite finished?"

Alastor nodded, not entirely sure whether Charlus was genuinely annoyed or just pretending to be, but figuring upsetting the captain on the first day of practice would likely be a bad idea. Beside him, Minerva did the same.

"In that case, we'll go youngest to oldest. The Chasers will run through a few plays, you'll be trying to stop the goals, obviously. Five shots each, whoever stops the most will be getting the spot on the team," Charlus said this all in a rush, gesturing from Alastor and Minerva to the goalposts and once or twice to himself. Not for the first time, Alastor wondered if Quidditch did something a bit funny to Charlus' head.

"What if there's a tie?" the third year girl seemed fairly doubtful of this possibility even as she asked the question. Charlus did not seem to find the idea much more likely, but admittedly, neither did Alastor. Especially not as Thomas Cromwell nearly slipped off his broom once again.

"If that's the case, there'll be a shootout I suppose," Charlus shrugged. "Places everyone!"

The nervous boy stayed in position in front of the goal, the other three Keeper hopefuls drifting off to one side to wait. Alastor looped around and followed Minerva and Charlus back towards the middle of the pitch. The chatter from the stands died away, and Tiberius halted to watch from above. One heartbeat, then two, and then the Quaffle was in the air, Minerva reaching the ball first and taking off toward the goal. Alastor fell in at her right, ducking to avoid a bludger and waving a rude gesture back in the direction of whichever Beater had been aiming for him. Minerva faked a pass to Charlus but kept the ball, scoring easily as the boy fell for the feint. The unfortunate fellow actually failed to stop any goals at all, as Minerva scored twice more and Alastor and Charlus both added in goals of their own. The third year girl did not fair much better, succeeding in stopping one of Charlus', but only because the Quaffle bounced off the post and into her hands.

Thomas Cromwell took the next turn, wobbling all the way into place, squinting at the oncoming Chasers. Charlus fired the Quaffle across the front of the goal, just past Thomas' fingertips and into Alastor's waiting hands, and from there Alastor quite easily scored. Thomas did manage to perform a bit better than Alastor had expected though - after the first goal, he managed to stop the next three. Charlus took the last shot this time, firing from further away but putting a fair amount of curve on the Quaffle. Thomas might have reached the ball in time, but a Bludger jolted into his broom and knocked him badly off-balance. The Quaffle sailed through the hoop as Thomas hung upside down, trying desperately to regain his seat. A number of the girls in the stands were laughing, and Thomas was beginning to go a bit red in the face, though whether from embarrassment or from hanging upside was entirely uncertain. Either way, when Thomas failed to right himself, Alastor finally flew over to help him, Tiberius descending from his perch to do the same.

Once Thomas was situated and safely in the stands, Gabriel flew into position in front of the center goal. The girls in the stands reacted with great enthusiasm, cheering and chanting quite loudly. Alastor wondered if he could get away with simply knocking Gabriel off his broom. Charlus started with the Quaffle again, taking the same curving shot toward the far post. A difficult enough save to make, but unfortunately Gabriel succeeded. Minerva and Alastor passed the ball back and forth a bit on the next two turns, Minerva taking both shots and Gabriel blocking both to rousing cheers from his fan section. More than a bit annoyed and determined to score, Alastor himself took the last two shots, one from a distance and the other a one handed shot off a pass from Minerva. Neither shot succeeded, much to Alastor great displeasure.

The fan section was still cheering as Charlus signaled for everyone to return to the ground.

"Could you at least try and look a bit more cheerful?" Tiberius asked, landing beside Alastor. "You look like you mean ta murder tha fellow."

"Dunno what you're talking about," Alastor insisted.

"Least we know he's a good Keeper."

"Oh, aye, that makes me feel much better," Alastor grumbled, kicking at a puddle for good measure.

Unsurprisingly, Gabriel was indeed named as the new Keeper. What was surprising was that Thomas was kept on as the reserve. Alastor rather sincerely doubted Thomas would ever see much playing time. Charlus seemed pleased with practice anyway, dismissing everyone and promising to work out a practice schedule soon. Gabriel was quite abruptly surrounded by adoring fans, very few of which actually seemed to be Gryffindors. Sparing one last wave for Bell and swearing under his breath, Alastor stomped off the pitch and back to the locker room before he could manage to actually work-up his temper.

* * *

"I think it went very well," Minerva declared, waiting beside Alastor as Tiberius closed the door to the broom shed. Alastor had managed to calm himself down rather quickly after practice, but had still roundly refused to carry anyone's broom to the shed. Tiberius had naturally told him off for being horribly ungentlemanly and carried the brooms himself.

"Suppose it did," Alastor allowed. Just because he no longer wanted to punch anyone did not necessarily mean he was willing to admit that Gabriel Valentine might actually make a decent Keeper. Minerva sighed at him, shaking her head.

"Oh, stop being difficult. He blocked my shots too."

"Who said that was the problem?"

"Was there something else then?" Minerva asked, eyebrows raised. Alastor did not see any appeal in explaining to her precisely why he was not entirely fond of Gabriel, opting instead to shrug and ignore the question.

"Is he still pouting?" Tiberius approached, grinning even as Alastor's face went dangerously red.

"Alastor, don't-" was as much as Minerva managed before Alastor's temper snapped and he tackled Tiberius. Minerva seemed to be making an effort to pry him off, but Tiberius was still laughing and Alastor would not be moved. At least not until Minerva delivered a sharp kick to his ribs that knocked the air from him.

"Merlin, Minerva, that hurt!" Alastor gasped, more than a bit surprised that she had actually kicked him. Minerva herself seemed a bit surprised too, hands covering her mouth.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to, I was just trying to get your attention!"

"You certainly have it," Alastor rolled onto his back, clutching at his side. Tiberius raised up, elbows still resting on the ground and curly hair standing on end.

"That's what happens if you mess with me. Apparently, Minerva will break your ribs."

"Oh, stop it! I was trying to get your attention because Ogg's coming," Minerva muttered, scowling at both boys in turn. Admittedly, her scowl softened a bit when she looked in Alastor's direction, a fact which he much appreciated.

"Tha groundskeeper?" Tiberius frowned, pushing himself back to his feet and offering a hand to Alastor. "Bit early for him ta be out isn't it?"

Ogg the groundskeeper probably had a last name, or even a proper first name of some sort, but no Hogwarts student seemed to know this information. At least not that Alastor had ever heard of. The man was a stocky, bearded fellow who spent most of his time patrolling the grounds and terrifying first years. Typically, Ogg's patrols did not begin until after sunset, plenty of time for any student to be safely inside the castle. The sun had not quite set, but Ogg was very definitely heading in their general direction, which Alastor guessed was probably fitting, based on the rest of the day's luck. The man was rather difficult to miss, and at the moment, did not look particularly happy.

"I think we should hide," Tiberius suggested. "Quickly."

Alastor realized that the castle was indeed too far away to reach before Ogg caught sight of them, once again meeting the day's standard of dismal luck. All three Gryffindors of course had a perfectly good excuse for being outside the castle, and were wearing the Quidditch gear as proof. Ogg however did not seem to be in the sort of mood to be understanding about things like practice. Tiberius' suggestion seemed to be the best plan at the moment.

The only sort of cover in the immediate area came in the form of a high row of hedges that bordered the edge of the forest. While Alastor was not especially keen on hiding in the Forbidden Forest this close to sunset, the hedge would have to do.

"Over there," he waved Tiberius and Minerva past him, bringing up the rear and sliding into cover just in time. The three of them waited for a moment, crouched low behind the hedge and as quiet as possible. The trees cast a heavy shadow over the hedge, abruptly darkening the world despite the fact that the sky as still pink and orange with the setting sun. Tiberius looked as though he were about to speak, but Minerva silenced him with her prefect stare as the groundskeeper's footsteps came to a halt nearby. Alastor slowly raised up on his toes to see over the hedge, sincerely hoping not to find the groundskeeper looking back at him. Fortunately, Ogg seemed to have stopped by the broom shed, searching the ground and swearing rather loudly.

"If we stay at tha edge of tha forest, he won't be able ta see us," Tiberius whispered, pointing over his shoulder in the direction of the castle.

Alastor nodded in agreement and took a long step backward, wincing as his foot landed on a branch that cracked loudly. Everyone froze for a moment, Alastor seriously tempted to swear loudly and colorfully. If Ogg heard the noise though, he did not react, and after a moment Alastor breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced down just to make sure no other objects lay in his path and noticed a smear of crimson on the fallen leaves. Frowning now, Alastor took another few steps, in the direction of the odd little trail. Just at the edge of the forest, half-hidden by the deeper shadows, lay a small, unmoving shape.

"What do you suppose has got him so upset?" Minerva whispered. She and Tiberius were both still facing the hedge, unaware of Alastor's discovery. Wordlessly he levitated the shape closer, sincerely hoping whatever it was did not wake up and decide to attack him. His concerns were proven quite unnecessary.

"I think I could make a pretty good guess," Alastor muttered, not sure whether he should be more alarmed or intrigued. Minerva gasped somewhere behind him, and Alastor did not really blame her. A rooster hung suspended in the air, neck hanging at a wrong angle and very definitely dead. Tiberius approached, leaves crunching under his feet as he abandoned all attempts at stealth.

"Merlin. You suppose an animal did this?"

Tiberius frowned, bending to inspect the rooster more closely. Alastor considered doing the same until he realized that Minerva was standing just behind him, looking over his shoulder. He decided to stay in place for now.

"There's certainly plenty of creatures in the forest," Minerva said softly, as though the words would summon one of the creatures she had been referring to. "But they've never killed any of the school's animals before."

"Not that we know of," Alastor pointed out, lowering the rooster to the ground once more. "What should we do with it?"

Tiberius answered by kicking leaves over the animal's body, and when that failed to be particularly efficient, changed tactics and levitated a pile of leaves into place instead.

"Leave it. We cannae exactly take it back ta dear old Ogg. Tha man'll be thinking we killed them."

"Them?" Minerva stepped around Alastor, frowning first at the makeshift grave and then at Tiberius. "What makes you think there's more than one?"

"Firstly, I donnae think he'd be quite so upset if only one rooster was dead," Tiberius pointed out, counting on his fingers. "Second, I certainly dinnae see any others, and there are quite a lot of them. I remember from detention."

A third, slightly more unsettling reason occurred to Alastor.

"There's blood on the ground, but this one had its neck broken. Must have been another rooster. Or something."

"Lovely," Minerva muttered. "Just lovely."

A loud crack echoed in the distance, and all three spun on their heels, lighting their wands and no longer concerned with drawing the attention of the groundskeeper. Alastor's heart was pounding instantly, eyes watching the shadows. He swore he saw a flicker of movement beneath the trees, swinging his wand in that direction. No further sound or movement came, only shadow and stillness, and Alastor realized just how dark the forest had grown. The sun had already set or was perilously close to going down, barely any light filtering down through the trees.

"Pity tha trail ends here," Tiberius murmured. "I'd rather like ta know if there's something out there that wants ta eat us."

"You're not a rooster, I think you're safe for now," Alastor countered. Of course, he himself was just as curious as Tiberius about what sort of creatures lurked in the forest. Especially if they were potentially dangerous ones. Alastor turned towards Minerva, who looked to be trying to decide if she should be excited or not.

"What do you think? Shall we go for a quest?"

"I feel as though I should point out that two of us are prefects and thus are actually supposed to be telling you off for being in the forest at all," Minerva observed dryly.

"You may feel free to take points from me any time you so choose," Alastor said, adding a grin for good measure. She halfway smirked at him, shaking her head, and without waiting for further reply Alastor lit his wand and ventured forward a few steps. He was a bit surprised to see that the trail of crimson did indeed pick up once more.

"Look at that, the trail's not quite cold. Must be a sign. We're meant to continue on."

"Brilliant!" Tiberius lit his wand and passed Alastor in a few long strides, framed in shadows as he took the lead.

"Following a trail of blood into the Forbidden Forest. You know, I don't think many people would call that brilliant," Minerva said, nonetheless following along and quickly matching pace with Alastor.

"Don't worry, if something jumps out I'll protect you," Alastor winked at her, earning himself a swift smack to the shoulder and a pointed glare.

"I'll remember that when I save your life in the next half hour."

"Play nice you two," Tiberius spoke without turning around. "There's deadly creatures about. We best be on guard."

Alastor rolled his eyes but fell silent all the same. He knew full well that Minerva certainly did not need protecting - he had seen her in enough duels to know better. That knowledge did not stop him wanting to look out for her, however, nor did it stop the sick feeling that crept over him at the thought of her being hurt. This was all of course perfectly friend-related protective instinct, Alastor assured himself. Nothing romantic at all. Hopefully.

They passed further into the forest, the sunlight rapidly fading as they walked until only the silvery glow of wand light remained, casting odd shadows all around. Twice more Alastor would have sworn he saw something move in the darkness, his pulse quickening once again. After the second time he stepped a bit closer to Minerva, but if she noticed she did not seem to mind.

"We still on track Tiberius?" Alastor asked quietly, having long since given up trying to follow the trail himself. Tiberius could be the guide if he wanted, Alastor was perfectly content to be the guard. Somehow that seemed oddly fitting anyway.

"Believe so," Tiberius replied after a moment.

"Believe so?" Minerva did not seem entirely enthused by the answer. "Please don't tell me you've gotten us lost."

Tiberius halted long enough to scowl over his shoulder in Minerva's direction.

"I haven't, thank ye kindly. Just getting a bit hard ta follow is all."

Minerva waved for him to continue on then, and Tiberius straightened to his full height, apparently trying to look as important as possible. Alastor considered hexing him just to see what would happen.

"What sort of creatures you expect are in this place anyway?" Minerva asked.

"Dragons," Tiberius answered without hesitation.

"Werewolves," Alastor added, nodding confidently.

"Thestrals," Tiberius spun about and took a few steps backwards, wand beneath his chin and face cast into shadow. He even waggled his fingers, succeeding in looking like a possessed scarecrow. Minerva rolled her eyes at the both of them.

"Now really. I was being serious."

"So were we," Alastor pretended to be gravely offended. "Well, at least about the thestrals. Never seen one myself of course, but I'm told they're hereabouts."

Minerva seemed willing to accept this explanation, thankfully. Leaves crunched underfoot, twigs snapping as the trio reached a small clearing. They were now quite a long way from the castle, Alastor realized, though the thought did not concern him nearly as much as it probably should have. Patches of the sky could be seen through gaps in the tree branches, dim stars visible far overhead. Tiberius paused for a moment, bending over to inspect something on the ground, and Minerva took the opportunity to seat herself on a fallen tree. She looked very pretty in the starlight and shadow, and Alastor had just about worked up the nerve to tell her so when a howl ripped through the silence. Minerva was back on her feet in an instant, face grim and wand levelled at the trees. Tiberius stumbled backward, and Alastor swore under his breath. The three of them stood back to back, wands raised and ready. Another howl followed the first, and Alastor was unsure whether his mind was merely playing tricks on him or if the second howl had been closer. Either way, his heart was certainly pounding, adrenaline bursting through him and setting his nerves on edge.

"Wouldnae happen ta be a full moon tonight, would it?" Tiberius asked quietly, glancing skyward. The trees effectively blocked much more than the handful of stars that were already barely visible. Seeing the moon this early in the night was entirely out of the question.

"I thought that the werewolves in the forest were only a rumor," Minerva said.

"You can tell that to whatever's howling," Alastor muttered. Leaves rustled, far too close for comfort, branches snapping in quick succession as something moved with great speed through the forest. A third howl echoed through the night, this one very definitely closer, and suddenly Minerva's hand clutched around Alastor's. His chest tightened in the now-familiar ache, and he glanced down for a split second, just long enough to make sure she actually had grabbed his hand and that he was not imagining things.

Tiberius gasped, and Alastor redirected his attention to glower at his friend, intending to inform him that now was not the time to be gasping about anyone holding hands. Until of course, Alastor realized what exactly Tiberius had been looking at. At the edge of the clearing, an unpleasantly large wolf had emerged from the darkness of the forest, growling menacingly. The light was not quite bright enough to tell whether the creature was an actual werewolf or not, but either way the wolf did not seem particularly happy to see them. Slowly, as if extensions of the shadows themselves, more wolves began to creep into the clearing, hackles raised and teeth bared. Minerva's hand quite suddenly tightened around his, and at any other time Alastor would have been rather pleased. At present, trapped in the middle of the Forbidden Forest by a pack of potential werewolves, Alastor could not quite manage to be too highly excited.

"Well. This might be a problem," Tiberius murmured, backing up a step or two and bumping into Alastor.

"Just a slight one," Minerva agreed, her fingers now wrapped a bit painfully around Alastor's own. "Perhaps this wasn't one of our better ideas."

"I imagine we've figured out what killed the roosters," Alastor grumbled. Tiberius offered a wan smile, as did Minerva, but neither took their attention off the present situation. The wolves had begun to close in now, staying just beyond the edges of the wand light. Alastor's heart really was pounding now, his palms sweating in the cool night air. He glanced left and right, hoping for some escape route to present itself, swinging his wand in a wide arc threateningly. Unfortunately, none of the wolves seemed at all intimidated, and no way out of the clearing seemed to be at all safe. They were quite effectively surrounded.


	5. Defensive Efforts

A/N - Sorry for the delay, hope everyone's having a lovely 2010 thus far. Speaking of 2010, here's the first chapter of the new year. And it's longer than usual, so that's a nice plus. Anyway, when we last left our heroes, they were in quite a predicament. Let's see how this works out for them...

* * *

Wavering wand light kept the darkness at bay, but just barely. The wolves lurked within the shadows, circling now, the movement rustling the leaves and grass and occasionally accompanied by low growls. The creatures themselves were only visible in fleeting glimpses, the sheen of light on fur, the flicker and glow of golden eyes in the night. Alastor stayed frozen in place, wand arm outstretched and left hand still very much in Minerva's grasp. Almost painfully so in fact as she squeezed his fingers again, another long howl echoing through the night. Alastor thought about teasing her, then decided now was probably not the best time. Not when the wolves had them surrounded. Tiberius shifted slightly, knocking against Alastor's shoulder again and sending the wand light arching higher over the trees.

"Well...this didn't turn out ta be nearly as exciting as I'd hoped," Tiberius murmured.

"I'd say it's a bit more exciting than I'd hoped for," Minerva countered. Based on her tone, Alastor guessed she was once more wearing her prefect look. He wondered if she was trying to intimidate the wolves, and, more importantly, if she was succeeding.

"Not exciting in tha proper way then, how's that?" Tiberius allowed, glancing over his shoulder for only a split second, not really keen to take his eyes off the wolves.

"That sounds much better," Minerva said. "Much more accurate. Oh, Merlin, we're in a mess aren't we?"

No agreement was required – all of three were well aware that the statement was unfortunately quite true. The wind began to pick up, a light breeze that further cooled the night air and sent the twisted trees swaying. Sweat dripped down the back of Alastor's neck, itching awfully, but he did not dare move. If the light really was the only thing keeping the wolves back, even a moment's distraction would be costly. And as much as she did not need protecting, Alastor would not let the wolves near Minerva.

"We cannae just stand here all night," Tiberius said slowly.

"Seeing as we're surrounded," Alastor grumbled, "What exactly do you suggest we do?"

"Which way is the castle?" Minerva asked quietly, sensing the impending argument and intervening beforehand. Tiberius glanced upward again, a futile effort as the sky was still largely blocked from view. After a moment he changed tactics, placing his wand in one outstretched palm, light vanishing abruptly.

"Tiberius," Alastor attempted to brighten the light from his own wand as the darkness swarmed inward.

"Half a moment. _Point Me_."

Tiberius stood halfway in shadow, staring down at the wand that was spinning in circles on his palm. With one less light, the forest had grown darker and the wolves had stopped circling, seeming content now to wait patiently. That particular thought was highly unsettling, and Alastor did his best to push back the sudden restless energy that told him to run away, and quickly. Finally the wand stopped, pointing directly away from Tiberius.

"Well?" Minerva asked, glancing over her shoulder. Due to the angle, she could not properly see the direction the wand was pointing.

"North...is that way," Tiberius gestured in the direction the spell had indicated. "Which means...tha castle is that way," now Tiberius pointed back over his shoulder in what was apparently meant to mean south. A huge wolf with shaggy brown fur stepped forward into the light, growling menacingly.

"If you could hurry this up," Alastor said gruffly.

"So tha quickest way out of tha forest is that way," Tiberius swung his arm a third time, this time pointing to Alastor's left. Of course, had Alastor not leaned back in time, Tiberius would have succeeded in smacking him across the face.

"I thought you said the castle was that way," Alastor nodded backwards in Minerva's direction. Tiberius hesitated a moment before lighting his wand again.

"But we need ta go west ta get out of tha forest."

In the renewed light, the wolves had certainly closed in, far too close for comfort. Alastor suspected that time to escape was rapidly running out.

"You're sure?"

"Ah... well you do realize, you're asking tha fellow who failed Astronomy," Tiberius said, grinning sheepishly. Alastor swore spectacularly.

"Oh Merlin," Minerva breathed, sounding about as unsettled by that statement as Alastor certainly felt. "Alright. It's fine. We'll go that way."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Alastor demanded, snapping a bit more than he had intended. Minerva squeezed his fingers in answer, deliberately and painfully.

"We'll hex them or something. Wolves don't care for fire, right?"

"Donnae think anyone will be thrilled if we burn tha forest down," Tiberius pointed out. "And werewolves, they're a bit resistant ta magic are they not?"

If Alastor recalled correctly, werewolves were actually _very _resistant to magic. Strong spells could hurt or stun them, but on the whole running was generally a better option. That, or a blunt object. Due to the current situation, however, Alastor felt that he ought to keep such information to himself. Perhaps, if they were lucky, the wolves were simply regular wolves. Regular, irritable, seemingly murderous wolves. Yes, that was a much better alternative. Alastor swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sudden plunge his stomach had taken.

"The three of us could probably do enough damage to at least stun them. Most of them," Alastor frowned, realizing that he had no idea how many wolves were waiting in the shadows. "How many are there?"

"I lost count at six," Minerva answered. "And I think quite a few more have showed up since then."

Alastor swore again, and this time Tiberius did as well.

"Alright...we'll just have to hex them and make a run for it," Alastor grumbled. He hated the thought of running away from a fight, but they were badly outnumbered. Adrenaline pounded through him now, heart racing as air came in quick, rapid breaths. Tiberius gave a quick, curt nod, his face washed out by the wand light. Minerva squeezed Alastor's fingers again, gently this time as she looked over her shoulder and locked eyes with him. Alastor sucked in another sharp breath, for a split second thinking perhaps he ought to tell Minerva, just in case he never had another chance. He banished the thought though, because of course he would have a chance to tell her. He was the best Defense student in sixth year - no wolves, werewolves, or any other dark creature were going to get him or anyone else. Not without a particularly heroic fight anyway.

"On three then?" Minerva suggested.

"Aye," Tiberius agreed, "Three's good. Shall I count?"

Nobody answered, and Tiberius took the silence as a yes.

"One."

The wind picked up again, stronger this time, howling through the trees with enough force to send dust and leaves tumbling through the air. Alastor was tempted to shut his eyes, to simply not look, but he was half-afraid that if he even so much as blinked then the wolves would be on him.

"Two."

Alastor waited, palms sweating, fingers tight around his wand, knees bent. Duelist stance, save for the fact that one arm was bent a bit awkwardly behind him at the moment. Fire a hex or two, clear a path, take off running. The plan was simple enough, and Alastor was poised and ready, nerves on edge, waiting for the signal.

Tiberius, however, never reached the count of three. Apparently deciding that the wait had been long enough, two of the wolves sprung forward, jaws snapping.

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Reducto!"_

"_Impedimentia!"_

The wolves tumbled backward at the force of the spells, three in total as apparently Minerva had hexed one as well. Alastor half-hoped the rest of the pack would give up and retreat. Unfortunately, the wolves seemed more inclined to do quite the opposite. No longer circling or growling or waiting at all, the wolves charged forward in a chorus of howls and snapping jaws. Firing twice more, once behind him and once toward the wolf blocking the way out, Alastor pushed Minerva ahead of him.

"Go!"

She stunned another wolf with an easy twirl of her wand, then turned on her heels and gave Alastor a rather pointed look as she seized his hand once more, dragging him along as she dashed away into the forest. Tiberius brought up the rear, crashing through the brush and swearing every few seconds, his accent growing slowly heavier. If the clearing had been shadowed before, the forest itself was nearly pitch dark, and Alastor tripped and stumbled several times, momentum and Minerva's hold likely the only things keeping him on his feet. Shapes blurred past in the shadows, long howls echoed from behind, and every so often golden eyes shimmered up from the darkness. Alastor cast a hex in the direction of every hint of movement, and Tiberius and Minerva did the same, lighting the forest in frequent burst of blue and red and green.

The path did not seem to be ending any time soon, and Alastor sincerely hoped they were not running in the wrong direction. Something heavy crashed in the darkness just behind them, accompanied by an awful sounding crack and a flurry of crushed leaves and branches. Alastor swung around without really stopping, his shoulder protesting the movement as Minerva kept running in the opposite direction. She skidded to a halt rather quickly though after meeting a fair amount of resistance from Alastor's lack of movement. Faded bursts of blue still dancing across his vision, Alastor squinted into the darkness, trying to see what had happened. Minerva was at his side, glasses catching the dim light.

"What's wrong?"

"I dunno..." Alastor said, trying desperately to catch his breath and light his wand at the same time. White light flared, still dim in the darkness but a welcome presence nonetheless. Panic flared briefly as he realized that Tiberius was nowhere to be seen. Slowly he slipped his hand free from Minerva's, venturing back toward the sound of the crash, wand at the ready.

"Tiberius?"

One long, thin arm raised up from behind a fallen log, halfway waving. Alastor jogged closer, bending over the log to find Tiberius sprawled on the ground and clutching his knee.

"Did...we...lose them?" Tiberius managed, eyes squeezed shut and looking very much as though he would rather be swearing.

"Dunno," Alastor raised his wand, but nothing moved in the shadows, no eyes watching from the darkness. "Are we even going the right way?"

Tiberius opened one eye and seemed to be vaguely offended by the question.

"Here I am, crippled...and you're...doubting me."

Alastor rolled his eyes, checking the area once more to be sure no wolves seemed about to spring out and attack.

"Would you like me to try and fix it, or shall I just drag you back to the castle?"

"One of your healing spells?" Tiberius asked. "Merlin, no. Where's Minerva?"

Biting back a few rude words, Alastor turned and motioned for Minerva to come and have a look.

"What did you do, exactly?" Minerva leaned over the log, palms pressed to the bark. Alastor shifted his attention abruptly to the ground, as now was probably the worst possible time for staring.

"Wrenched my knee," Tiberius grumbled, "Didn't see the log."

Seeing as Tiberius had been at the back of the group, Alastor was rather astounded that he had been the only one to collide with the fallen obstacle, and meant to say as much. He was distracted, however, by the sudden appearance of two golden eyes that flared to life in the shadows just past Minerva's shoulder. Panic flared through him, blood running cold, and Alastor reacted without thinking.

"Look out!"

He dove forward, pushing Minerva out of the way with one hand before she even had time to properly react to his warning. The wand light flickered and vanished, plunging the forest into darkness and chaos. Tiberius was shouting, fumbling for his wand as Alastor desperately tried to swing his own wand around in time to defend himself. The wolf was faster, claws catching on Alastor's outstretched hand and tearing deep. The pain was sudden, staggering, and Alastor cried out and stumbled backward, too shocked to do much of anything else. Tiberius fired a jinx from the ground and missed badly, nearly hitting Alastor himself. Fortunately, Minerva was far more accurate.

"_Stupefy!"_

The spell struck the wolf squarely in the snout, sending the creature back into the shadows. Alastor sank backward onto the log, injured hand clenched into a fist and clutched to his chest, breath coming in deep gasps.

"What happened?" Tiberius demanded, attempting to stand but failing miserably as his knee gave out. White light flared to life from someone's wand, and then Minerva bent down, fingers gently pulling Alastor's injured hand toward her.

"Why in Merlin's name did you do that?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," Alastor managed through gritted teeth.

"You absolute idiot," Minerva breathed. "Your hand."

"Now that you mention it, it does twinge a bit," Alastor muttered, attempting to grin and failing.

Minerva did not seem to be exceptionally thrilled by his efforts, giving him a rather gently pointed look.

"What happened?" Tiberius asked again, one arm scrabbling over the side of the log. Minerva sighed, pushing her glasses back into place.

"Alastor decided to try and punch the wolf, apparently."

"Oi! I did not. And besides, I was helping you!" Alastor insisted, feeling as though her observation had been more than slightly unfair. He had, after all, been injured while attempting to protect her. "If anything, you ought to be thanking me."

That had apparently been the wrong thing to say, because if Minerva had looked concerned, perhaps even irritated, before, she looked just shy of furious now. Mouth in a tight line, she seized Alastor's wrist, tugging his injured hand fully into the light. The gashes looked worse than they really were, or at least Alastor hoped. The gashes certainly looked fairly awful to begin with, especially in the dim light. Given the fact that his fingers did not seem to want to respond, Alastor had a distinctly bad feeling that the wolf's claws had reached all the way to the bone. Suddenly a bit dizzy, Alastor pushed the thought away as quickly as possible.

"Think you can fix it?" he asked quietly, not daring to meet Minerva's eyes just yet. Not until she had calmed down a bit.

"Not here," Minerva said stiffly. "I'll need better light. You probably ought to go to the hospital wing anyway."

"I wouldnae mind going ta tha hospital wing," Tiberius interrupted. "Since I am in a fair degree of pain. I dinnae even jump in front of a werewolf ta cause said pain."

"That's true, you didn't," Minerva allowed, pointedly turning her attention to the lanky Scotsman who had entirely given up trying to move and lay with his arms crossed behind his head. Alastor thought she might have been smirking, but surely that had been a trick of the light. "Considering that fact, we probably ought to get him back to the castle."

"We?" Alastor's eyes narrowed, and he bit back a gasp as his hand chose that moment to begin throbbing painfully.

"Well, my levitation charm isn't the best. I think it'd probably be safer if we just carried him," Minerva said matter of factly.

"I really feel like it's unfair that I'm being punished for trying to help you," Alastor grumbled, rising to his feet nonetheless. Minerva arched an eyebrow in his direction, expression innocent.

"Why don't we discuss that later?"

Alastor shoved his wand into his pocket, frowning in her direction but staying silent. Thankfully, Minerva did at least do a healing charm over his hand so that the bleeding stopped. His fingers still did not quite want to move, but Alastor decided now was not the best time to mention this fact. They were, after all, still in the middle of a dark forest, wolves lurking in the shadows.

"About time," Tiberius had raised up into a sitting position once more, "If we stay much longer, maybe you ken try and wrestle tha next werewolf."

"Shut it you," Alastor said gruffly, reaching down to seize Tiberius under the shoulder. "Wasn't a werewolf anyway."

"How do you-" Tiberius paused, grimacing as Alastor hauled him to his feet, "know?"

"Pupils are wrong," Alastor muttered, adding a shrug for good measure. Thankfully, his 'O' in Defense meant that no one questioned this statement. Minerva watched the proceedings with her arms crossed, wand leaned against her shoulder and glowing in the darkness. With some degree of effort, being that he only had full use of one hand, Alastor managed to haul Tiberius over the log and into a mostly standing position.

"Easy, mate," Tiberius gasped, slumping forward and clutching at his knee. "Merlin but that hurts."

"Here," Minerva waved her wand, casting a healing charm over Tiberius' knee that glowed blue for a moment. As the light faded, Tiberius relaxed visibly, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Brilliant. Thanks."

"That should last until we get back to the castle. Hopefully," Minerva said.

"Well, then let's hope this is the right direction," Alastor smirked. Tiberius did not seem to appreciate the attempt at humor, limping past and lighting his wand.

"Ye shouldnae make fun of me. I've been horrifically injured."

"Your hand's still in one piece," Alastor countered, holding up his own injury as proof.

"Least I dinnae feel the need to try and tackle a wolf," Tiberius observed dryly. Alastor scowled and smacked Tiberius in the back of the head, pretending he did not hear Minerva snickering in the background.

* * *

The rest of the walk back to the castle was unpleasantly long, and by the time the edge of the forest was in sight Alastor was tempted to sprint the last distance. Tiberius had stumbled several times, the healing charm growing progressively weaker, but had refused any attempts at help. He seemed to be determined to limp along on his own. This made the trek almost unbearably slow, an unending walk through the shadowed forest that did nothing for Alastor's nerves. Alastor would have sworn that something was following them, creeping along in the darkness at the edges of the wand light. But he never saw anything for certain, only heard the rustle of leaves and branches. Minerva and Tiberius would likely think him a bit paranoid and blame the wind, and thus Alastor kept his concerns to himself. Once, he did in fact spot a distinct silhouette atop a hill just ahead, but the wolf vanished from sight almost immediately. Alastor was not entirely sure why the wolves had given up chase, but he was not about to complain. His luck finally seemed to be improving, so long as he pretended that his hand was not throbbing.

After so long in the heavy darkness of the forest, the moonlit grounds were a welcome change, if not a little blinding. All three of them dimmed their wands, not wanting to attract the attention of the groundskeeper they had been trying to avoid in the first place. Tiberius managed the stairs with some degree of difficulty, tripping once or twice, and Alastor himself was trying to ignore the growing pain from his hand. Minerva had not spoken in quite some time, though Alastor could not tell if she was still upset or merely thinking. Honestly he found the idea that Minerva was upset with him both odd and troubling, since he had genuinely been trying to help.

The castle doors were still open, fortunately enough, and the halls were utterly empty. No prefects seemed to be on duty, at least not yet. Now there was simply the small matter of sneaking back to Gryffindor Tower without being caught.

"I take it we aren't going to the hospital wing?" Minerva asked, halting at the top of the second floor stairs.

"Just imagine that conversation," Tiberius snorted, "Well, we were running from some wolves. No, not on tha grounds. In tha forest. We'd gone ta see what had killed this rooster, ye see?"

"Yes, I see your point. Come on then, let me see what I can do," Minerva sighed. She began to walk again, although not, for some reason, toward the next set of stairs, but a nearby corridor instead. Alastor glanced up at Tiberius, who frowned and shrugged, and the two boys followed after her. Neither of them were particularly thrilled, however, with the door Minerva stopped in front of.

"Come on Minerva, that's..." Alastor dropped his voice, casting a wary glance around the corridor, "that's a girl's bathroom."

"Surely there's someplace else we can go," Tiberius agreed, looking distinctly uneasy. "The common room? Or the prefect's bathroom, that's not too far."

Minerva did not seem at all bothered by their pleas. Alastor realized with horror that she might in fact be enjoying this.

"You don't need to walk around on that knee more than is necessary. And Alastor's hand is bound to start bleeding again any time soon. Besides, it's near curfew, no one will be in here. Nobody ever uses the place anyway."

Without waiting for further argument, Minerva pointed her wand at the bathroom door, which swung inward without a sound. Alastor shifted in place, casting an uneasy glance at the door. Tiberius was murmuring something under his breath about his knee not hurting quite that badly, and Alastor had suddenly decided that he would much rather keep his hand torn to pieces than go into a girl's bathroom. Minerva, however, was not taking no for an answer. She completely ignored Alastor and Tiberius' pleading looks, employing her prefect stare and tapping one foot impatiently. With heavy sighs and numerous glances to make sure that the hallway was indeed quite empty, first Tiberius, then Alastor, ventured inside. Minerva entered last, the door shutting behind her as the lights flickered to life. Alastor turned and charmed the door locked for good measure.

Having never been in a girl's bathroom before, Alastor really had nothing to compare the place to, save to note that it rather resembled a boy's bathroom, aside of course from the obvious changes. Along one wall was a long mirror and several sinks, and on the opposite wall a series of stalls with wooden doors. Water appeared to be leaking from someplace, the sinks or the toilets, but either way large puddles stretched across the tile floor. Tiberius surveyed the area for a moment before stepping backwards and sinking to a seat in the driest possible space, back leaned against the door.

"Not tha most cheerful place."

"Now you see why no one ever uses this one," Minerva said. She walked over to one of the sinks and tapped the faucet with her wand, turning on the water. "Are you coming?"

"Me?" Alastor glanced back at Tiberius, just to be sure. Tiberius, for his part, had occupied himself with cleaning the leaves out of his curly hair and seemed to be paying no attention. Minerva sighed, rolling up her sleeves and gesturing at the water.

"Yes, you. The one with blood all over your hand."

"Oh," was the only reply Alastor could manage, crossing the floor and nearly slipping in one of the puddles. Minerva took hold of his hand once he was close enough, pushing his sleeve back out of the way. Her hands were gentle, probing, and she was frowning, no longer irritated, just plainly concerned. Not that Alastor especially blamed her, his hand did look even worse than he had expected. Minerva sighed again, shaking her head and shoving his hand beneath the water. Alastor attempted to pull away out of reflex, the cold water burning against the torn skin, but Minerva held him in place. After the first few seconds, she was not really looking at him or his hand, just sort of watching the puddles ripple on the floor.

"Doesn't hurt as bad as it looks," Alastor assured her. He was of course lying, and though Minerva did not seem to believe him she simply ignored the statement entirely.

"Why in Merlin's name did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Stick your hand in the way," Minerva said tersely. "What do you think?

"Told you," Alastor grumbled, "I was trying to help."

The water in the sink had begun to turn faintly pink and was in danger of overflowing. Fortunately, Minerva noticed just in time, turning the faucet off with another tap of her wand. She examined his hand for a moment before conjuring a towel and beginning to clean up the gashes. Without all the blood in the way, Alastor realized that his hand had indeed been cut to the bone. The odd, dizzy feeling returned, and Alastor clutched at the sink with his free hand to keep from losing his balance. Fortunately, Minerva did not seem to notice.

"And how exactly does having your hand torn apart help me?"

"Because I was protecting you," Alastor scowled.

"I believe I already told you that I don't need protecting," Minerva scowled back at him, pressing down on the towel a bit harder than was necessary. Alastor bit his lip, determined not to react.

"Yes well the giant, clawed creature leaping at your face seemed to suggest otherwise."

"If I'd had a proper warning, I could have hexed it," Minerva insisted.

"A proper warning?" Alastor asked, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"You suppose this will make flying difficult?" Tiberius asked. His question was entirely ignored.

"Instead of you just shouting and shoving me out of the way," Minerva explained flatly.

"You'll forgive me if I don't quite believe that," Alastor muttered, wincing as Minerva squeezed the towel tight around his hand once more. Clean, the gashes somehow managed to look even worse, and Alastor pointedly kept his eyes away from his hand after the first glimpse of white. Minerva retrieved her wand from her pocket and set about trying to heal the injuries one by one.

"You know, something must have gotten the wolves all angry. I donna expect they've been trouble like that before," Tiberius observed, voice echoing in the empty bathroom. Nobody paid him any mind.

"And why's that?" Minerva demanded.

"Because if you'd been standing where I was, the thing would've torn your face off," Alastor insisted, temper beginning to flare. This was all horribly unfair really, that she was so upset at the fact that he had been trying to defend her.

"Doubtful. I could have handled it."

"You expect me to apologize for saving you?" Alastor guessed, glowering down at her.

"Merlin, I think I'll just walk myself to the hospital wing," Tiberius seemed to be drumming his fingers against the door now, either out of boredom or some attempt to draw attention to himself.

"I expect you to apologize for thinking I needed saving," Minerva muttered, not looking up from her work. Alastor watched for a moment as his skin knitted itself back together, trying to process what exactly she had just said.

"And why in Merlin's name would I do that?"

"Because I certainly did not need rescuing."

"Yes, I you've mentioned that several times," Alastor rolled his eyes. "Anything else? Because really, anyone else would be thanking me right now."

"You can be quite insufferable sometimes, do you realize that?" Minerva asked coldly. Alastor winced, not out of pain but rather out of desire to smack himself in the head. His temper was beginning to get the better of him, and that was a very bad thing indeed. Especially since this was Minerva he was talking to.

"Didn't mean for it to sound like that," he murmured, not meeting her eyes.

"I didn't expect so," Minerva sighed, "I have been putting up with your tempers for years now."

"'Preciate that," Alastor said, hoping she caught the sincerity in the words. Minerva finished with the last of the gashes, the horrible looking tear vanishing slowly but surely. Finally, no sign remained of the injury save for four jagged scars across the back of his hand, barely visible at all against his skin. Although finished, Minerva did not let go of his hand, something Alastor certainly was not about to object to.

"You really do have to stop you know," Minerva murmured, eyes still on the place where moments before his hand had been ripped to shreds. His fingers ached, now was really not the time to complain.

"Stop what?"

"Getting hurt on my account."

"Perhaps you should stop finding yourself in situations that require me to get hurt," Alastor pointed out, "Situations that require me to jump in."

"For the last time Al, I do not need rescuing," Minerva said, but this time her tone was not quite so angry. Alastor even forgot to react to her use of his nickname, though in all honesty only Minerva had ever been able to get away with calling him 'Al' anyway.

"Never said you did," Alastor murmured, realizing for the first time that they were standing quite close together. Minerva was watching him now, no longer angry or frowning, simply watching him. Her glasses were smudged, and there was a leaf or two in her hair, and Alastor's chest ached unpleasantly. He leaned forward until there was barely any space between them, and when Minerva did not move away Alastor decided now might be a good time to kiss her. Just as he decided this, however, a loud bang echoed off the walls, followed by very loud, very angry shouting.

"THIS IS A GIRL'S BATHROOM!"

Alastor drew his wand in an instant, senses still on high alert from the chase through the forest. Not to mention, he was more than a little furious at the sudden interruption and had full intention of hexing the unfortunate offender. One of the stall doors had been thrown open, still swaying back and forth from the force of the blow. In the stall itself stood a small girl who looked to be no more than twelve or so, brown haired and bespectacled. Although she looked as though she had ben crying, the girl was still standing with her hands on her hips, glowering at Alastor.

"Who are you?" the girl demanded. "And what are you doing here?"

"Who are you?" Alastor challenged, frowning.

"And what in Merlin's name are you doing here?" Tiberius asked, using the door to push himself upright. Minerva released Alastor's hand and rushed across the room, splashing through the puddles and sending water arching across the mirror.

"I asked you first," the girl insisted.

"And we're-" Tiberius swore under his breath as Minerva's spell straightened his knee with an audible pop, "Sixth years. Two of us prefects."

The girl seemed to deflate a bit, hands falling to her sides.

"Myrtle. My name's Myrtle. And I'm here because Olive Hornby was teasing me again and there's no place in Ravenclaw Tower that I can hide."

"Haven't you got bathrooms up there?" Alastor asked.

"Of course we do. But anybody can walk in," Myrtle glared at him as though he had just asked the difference between ghosts and goblins. "Though apparently anyone can walk in here as well."

"Maybe you just ought to..." Alastor trailed off, not entirely sure what exactly a second year girl ought to do in the face of teasing. He had enough trouble trying to figure out what sort of advice to give his second year brother. Alastor himself had never been teased much, even less after he proved quite ready and willing to jump into a fight with anyone who dared try. Somehow he doubted that was the appropriate solution to this situation.

"Oh, stop!" Myrtle stomped her foot, sending a splash of water across her pajamas. "I didn't ask for your h-help!"

With that, Myrtle began crying once more, Alastor utterly at a loss as to how the situation had grown so out of hand. Fortunately, Minerva finally decided to rescue him from the crying girl. If Alastor had not known better, he would have thought Minerva was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Don't worry about him. Just a silly boy is all."

Aware that Minerva was simply trying to make Myrtle-the-crying-Ravenclaw feel better, Alastor still did not especially like being called a "silly boy." He moved across the room to stand beside Tiberius, crossing his arms and leaning back against the door.

"Y-you said you're a prefect?" Myrtle managed to calm down after a moment or two, taking deep, gulping breaths and wiping her eyes.

"I certainly am," Minerva smiled, pointing at Tiberius with one hand, "And so is he."

"Can you give Olive a detention then?" Myrtle asked eagerly, cheering up all of a sudden.

"No, I don't think so," Minerva shook her head. "But, I can take you back to your dormitory, how's that?"

Myrtle considered this for a moment, pausing to glare in the direction of Tiberius and Alastor. Tiberius waved, attempting a smile. Not a prefect and thus not obligated to be nice to younger students, Alastor merely did his best not to glare back.

"Do they have to come to?"

"No. My friends don't mind if I go, do they?" Minerva asked, sending pointed looks in the boys' direction. Alastor considered saying that he did mind, but guessed no matter what he answered Minerva would be leaving anyway. There were times her job as prefect was useful, and there were times that she took the whole matter a bit seriously for Alastor's taste.

"Go on then," Tiberius tried to pull the door open, not realizing Alastor had charmed the lock. "And cheer up a bit, love."

"Why?" Myrtle sniffed, watching Tiberius warily.

"Seems the door won't open unless you give us a smile," Tiberius tugged at the doorknob once more as proof, elbowing Alastor in the side as discreetly as possible.

"Really?" Alastor muttered under his breath. Tiberius' forced smile never faltered.

"Really."

"Bloody prefects," Alastor breathed. Minerva was watching him expectantly though, halfway smiling, and Alastor figured he could at least make an effort. "Just a smile."

Myrtle pulled a face that sort of resembled a smile, if one squinted and tilted their head to one side. Alastor nevertheless tapped his wand to the door handle, magic unsealing the lock and allowing Tiberius to swing the door wide open.

"And there you have it!"

Myrtle did not look entirely impressed, still sniffling every few seconds. Minerva, following along behind, looked to be trying not to laugh, though what precisely she found so funny was entirely beyond Alastor. Tiberius bowed extravagantly as the girls passed, earning a slightly more genuine smile from Myrtle and an eye roll from Minerva.

"I'll see you two in the morning."

Minerva reached out, ruffling first Tiberius' hair, then Alastor's. For a split second, her eyes met Alastor's, the same odd, watchful expression on her face. His heart skipped a beat or two, and he smiled in spite of himself, because maybe, just maybe...And then she leaned forward, lips brushing against his cheek as she hugged him, and Alastor felt like he had been kicked in the stomach again.

"I'm glad you're alright," she whispered. Before Alastor could answer, Minerva had pulled away, disappearing down the corridor behind Myrtle.

Tiberius shuffled out of the bathroom first, pointedly not looking at Alastor, hands in his pockets. After a moment or two, Alastor's legs decided to respond again and he managed to move forward as well, accidentally slamming the door behind him.

"We'd better get back to the tower," Alastor sighed, running both hands through his hair.

"Guess so," Tiberius agreed.

The boys set off down the corridor, quite eager to put the girls' bathroom far behind them. Alastor's wand was lit, but only as dim as possible in an effort to avoid drawing any attention. Prefects would be patrolling, teachers too, and the last thing Alastor wanted to do was explain why he was wandering the corridors. Soon enough they reached the staircase and began the long climb toward Gryffindor Tower.

"How's your knee?" Alastor asked, whisper still loud and sudden in the otherwise quiet castle.

"Tis fine," Tiberius shrugged.

Another few steps of silence and a pause at the top of the stairs as light moved at the end of the corridor on the next landing. Alastor pressed back against the wall beside a suit of armor, Tiberius beside him. The light passed after a moment, either a ghost or a painting but either way no actual danger. Tiberius moved away from the wall and began to climb the stairs once more, Alastor following and releasing the breath he had not realized he was holding.

"How's your hand?" Tiberius did not turn around, merely turned the corner onto the next staircase.

"Fine," Alastor said flatly. In truth his hand ached quite painfully, but he had been hurt worse before and surely the ache would be gone by morning. Now, the persistent ache in his chest, that concerned him slightly more. There in the bathroom, he had been so close...and he had missed his chance. Been interrupted from his chance more like, but still. The moment had vanished, imploded...Alastor sincerely hoped his luck would turn around at some point, because really it could not possibly be any worse.

"Not one of our best nights," Tiberius observed. In Alastor's opinion, that was a bit of an understatement.

"Not especially. Maybe one of our most interesting."

"Maybe," Tiberius allowed, tilting his head to one side in agreement. They climbed the next staircase without speaking, Alastor content to continue replaying all possible ways that the moment in the bathroom could have gone differently. A sudden thought struck him, and he was rather thankful for the darkness as his face began to go red.

"You didn't happen to ah...in the bathroom...Minerva and I..."

"Were talking?" Tiberius suggested, long legs taking the stairs two at a time now.

"And you didn't...see..." Alastor trailed off, one hand running through his hair and the other clinging to the railing.

"Any sort of romantic business?" Tiberius did turn and look this time, an odd, closed expression on his face, "Course not. Dinnae see a thing."

Alastor breathed a sigh of relief, joining Tiberius on the landing in front of the Fat Lady.

"Good. Just...making sure."

"No worries mate," Tiberius smiled, then, turning to the portrait, "Blackguard."

"Fitting," the Fat Lady sniffed, making no move to open the door. "No telling what you two have been up to. It's past curfew you realize."

"Is it?" Alastor asked innocently. "Merlin, I knew we'd forgotten something."

Tiberius choked back a laugh, but the Fat Lady did not look at all pleased. She glowered at them a moment or two more before rolling her eyes exaggeratedly and swinging the portrait open. Alastor smirked as he passed through the portrait hole, waving at the Fat Lady as she returned to her post, ignore her continued muttering about students sneaking around the castle. The common room was unsurprisingly empty, the fire banked over for the night.

"Should we um...you suppose we ought to wait...for Minerva I mean?" Alastor gestured back toward the portrait hole, clearing his throat. Tiberius had already been halfway past the sofa, shoulders slumping visibly as he stopped mid-stride.

"Look, Alastor," Tiberius sighed, running a hand over his face. Alastor realized for the first time that his friend was plainly exhausted. Of course, standing there in the common room, the last of the adrenaline long since vanished, Alastor realized that he himself was rather exhausted as well. "I donnae think...well...when she said friends, mate, I think that's what she meant."

"Of course. I know," Alastor answered hurriedly. "Just thought maybe it'd be nice to wait for her..."

Tiberius smiled sadly, and Alastor had never wanted to hit him more. Without another word, Alastor stormed past Tiberius, ignoring the hand that grabbed for his shoulder. The ache in his chest was awful now, far worse than before, and he scrubbed at his face where Minerva had kissed his cheek. He was suddenly, irrationally angry, though at precisely who Alastor was unsure. What he did know was that he needed no one's bloody advice, nor did he want anyone's pity. If Minerva wanted to only wanted be friends, then fine. If nothing else, that certainly made deciding what to do about Bell McKinnon considerably easier.


	6. The Learning Curve

A/N - This slightly-delayed chapter brought to you by a new semester of college and disagreeable characters. And also the letter 'Q'. Alright not so much that last one. Anyway! Picking up about a week or so from where we left off...

* * *

"This is completely hopeless!"

Tiberius threw his essay down in frustration, stomping on the parchment with one foot for good measure. From her seat at the opposite end of the couch, Minerva glanced up from her own work but said nothing. He sulked for a moment, arms crossed and glowering at nothing in particular, swearing in the direction of the parchment every few seconds. Minerva did not think the essay was actually near as difficult as Tiberius seemed inclined to believe. Then again, she never found Transfiguration homework particularly difficult, and thus decided to keep her opinions to herself. Tiberius had by this point not only retrieved but also crumpled his parchment into a wadded ball. Minerva figured she ought to intervene before he decided to toss the offending essay into the common room fire next.

"Do you want me to take a look at it?"

Tiberius' arm halted mid-motion, as he had indeed been prepared to sacrifice his essay to the fireplace.

"Donnae think there's much left ta read," a sheepish look stretched across his face as his long fingers set about trying to smooth the parchment across his knee. The essay really was wrinkled beyond saving, but Tiberius tried a spell or two and the words at least seemed legible. Upon taking the paper, Minerva was not entirely surprised to note that he had barely managed five inches of writing. At least he had made some semblance of an effort though, unlike on previous occasions.

"You do realize," Minerva said slowly, "That this is meant to be twenty-five inches?"

"A matter of mild concern," Tiberius answered. "Think you ken help?"

Minerva considered simply giving Tiberius the list of books she had used for her own essay, but both of them knew very well what he meant by 'help.' One of these days, she really was going to stop being so generous about all this homework business.

"You can use mine, I suppose."

"Brilliant," Tiberius beamed, taking back his crumpled essay. Minerva bent to retrieve her schoolbag that rested beside the couch, pretending she did not see Tiberius tossing his parchment into the fire. She rummaged through the bag for a moment, a flare of panic striking as her finished, twenty-five inch essay failed to present itself. Dropping her bag back onto the floor, Minerva frowned, glancing in the direction of the stairs and wondering if perhaps she had left the essay in the dormitory. The assignment was due tomorrow, and as much as Minerva was sure she could rewrite the essay, she did not much care for the idea. Twenty-five inches happened to be a fair amount of parchment. She was halfway out of her seat before she remembered with great relief that she had loaned Alastor her copy two days ago.

"I haven't got it, I think Alastor still does."

Tiberius seemed to consider this for a moment.

"Minerva, I need that essay. There's no other hope."

Trying not to roll her eyes, because Tiberius was really being just a tad overdramatic about this whole business, Minerva merely gestured in the direction of the boy's dormitory.

"Why don't you go ask Alastor for it?"

"He's not up there," Tiberius said, standing up all the same. "Suppose his bag might be though."

Tiberius was across the common room and up the stairs before Minerva had a chance to respond, long legs cutting across the distance easily. Minerva felt a bit foolish now for assuming Alastor had been upstairs this soon after dinner, though she was thoroughly at a loss as to where else he might be. Alastor had been acting a bit odd for nearly a week now, vanishing at random only to turn up again hours later looking somewhere between smug and guilty. Minerva guessed that this was simply his reaction to the almost-kiss that Myrtle had spectacularly interrupted. He would perhaps avoid her for awhile, a week or so maybe, and then he would be back to normal. Minerva wondered if they were doomed to this ritual forever, one avoiding the other every time a more-than-friends moment happened to occur.

"When are you going to stop giving them all the answers?" Augusta quite effectively interrupted Minerva's thoughts, speaking from her chair on the far side of the room. Minerva arched an eyebrow in her friend's direction but Augusta merely shrugged and gestured toward the boys' stairs, as though Minerva had not understood her meaning the first time.

"I don't recall you complaining about my assistance with your Charms essays," Minerva said matter of factly. Augusta grimaced a bit, nodding at the truth of the statement and returning her attention to her own homework. Footsteps pounded on the stairs again, and a faintly flustered Tiberius reappeared.

"He's not there, his bag's not there, and your essay's nowhere ta be found."

"Merlin, you didn't tear apart the room did you?" Augusta's words suggested concern, but her tone certainly leaned more toward amused. Absent or not, Alastor hated when anyone went through his belongings, and Minerva suspected that he would not be at all pleased to find that Tiberius had gone searching through his things.

"Dinnae look any messier than when I started," Tiberius muttered, either unconcerned about the prospect of angering Alastor or too concerned by the essay to care.

"If his bag isn't upstairs, he must have it with him," Minerva said evenly, hoping that at some point Tiberius would realize precisely how mad he was being about all this. "So if we find Alastor, he's probably got my essay."

Instead of calming Tiberius, however, this idea seemed to propel him from mildly flustered to just shy of frenzied. He dashed back over to the couch, cramming books and parchment into his bag.

"Fantastic. So how do we find him?"

Minerva was a bit taken aback by the sudden enthusiasm. Fortunately, Augusta seemed prepared to answer.

"Where do people usually go to study?"

"The library!" Tiberius snapped his fingers, moving as if to hug Augusta and then, upon seeing her face, thinking better of the idea. He changed directions abruptly, heading towards the portrait hole at great speed. Deciding she really ought to go along, if for no other reason than to keep Tiberius from doing anything incredibly stupid, Minerva kicked her bag in Augusta's direction and stood as well.

"Is he alright?" Augusta whispered, sending a pointed glance in Tiberius' direction and grimacing a bit.

"He's fine," Minerva assured her, chancing a look at Tiberius only to see him shifting from foot to foot excitedly, the portrait hole already halfway open. "The stress, I think, is beginning to get to him."

Augusta nodded solemnly, murmured something about good luck and godspeed, but Minerva largely missed the parting sentiments as she found herself chasing Tiberius out into the hall. Merlin, but she had been hoping for a nice, quiet night.

* * *

Tiberius burst through the library door, Minerva close on his heels. There had been a fair amount of sprinting involved, much to Minerva's great displeasure. She had twice attempted to explain to Tiberius that even if Alastor left the library, he would have to go back to the common room eventually. This logic had been more or less ignored, unfortunately. Apparently Tiberius was determined to find Alastor as soon as possible and therefore finish his essay as soon as possible and Minerva failed to see the grave importance of any of this.

Now though, the pair of them stood in the doorway, Tiberius slouched over and trying to catch his breath. Minerva slipped past him, forcing a smile in the direction of young Madame Pince, who appeared to be glaring in the direction of the two Gryffindors.

"Shall we...go have a look then?" Tiberius managed after a moment, standing up to his full height once again. Without waiting for an answer, Tiberius strode off in the direction of the study tables that ran along the left side of the room. Not entirely appreciating the broad assumption that she intended to help in this search, Minerva still made her way into the maze of rickety shelves. Alastor never came to the library unless forced to do so in the company of either herself or Tiberius, so Minerva had trouble believing that they would find him somewhere in the library. Still, she never objected to a visit, and there were some books she had been meaning to take a look at. She had been doing some particularly interesting study on Animagus transformations, and two of the books she needed were thankfully located outside the Restricted Section. Now if only she could recall the proper titles...

Minerva wandered through the library for awhile, waving hello to a group of third year Hufflepuffs and a pair of Ravenclaws. She recognized no one in particular though, and certainly did not see Alastor's distinctive frame at any of the tables. Instead she busied herself searching the shelves for the pair of Transfiguration books. The first of the set she located at the bottom of a stack of books someone had left piled on a cart, and she nearly caused an avalanche trying to retrieve her prize. A quick Levitation Charm saved her though, and Minerva tucked the book under one arm and went on about her way. When the books collapsed moments later, Minerva winced but kept walking. For such a young librarian, Madame Pince was a decidedly ornery individual, and Minerva had no inclination to be thrown out of the library this evening.

She located the second book in the back of the library, nearer to the Restricted Section and sorted with one of the oldest collections. A Summoning Charm was quickly put to use, and Minerva wasted no time in scanning through the pages once the book was in her grasp. So focused was she on the words and moving pictures that she failed to hear anyone approaching. Not until something prodded against her shoulder, anyway. Minerva slammed the book shut, spinning on her heels and shoving her wand in the face of a baffled-looking Thomas Cromwell.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Guess you didn't hear me," Thomas held up his hands as if to show that he meant no harm. Minerva blushed, a bit embarrassed at having drawn her wand on the clumsy fifth year boy.

"I was...a bit absorbed in my reading."

She held the book up as proof and Thomas leaned in, squinting at the title and nodding as he tapped his fingers against the cover.

"Impressive. Greek. That's getting right down to the framework of the spells, isn't it?"

"Well yes," Minerva allowed, "But for some of the really complex magic, especially Transfiguration, you have to start from the framework."

"Wouldn't it be easier to start with a translation though?" Thomas pressed, "Work your way back from the Latin?"

Not for the first time, Minerva wondered how precisely Thomas had avoided Ravenclaw. Then again, people tended to wonder the same thing about her, especially when she started rambling about Transfiguration.

"I already have, actually."

"Oh. Well. That's good then," Thomas nodded again, eyes returning to normal shape as he ceased squinting. He made no move to leave but did no speak again either, an awkward silence falling quite suddenly.

"Did you ah...need anything else, Thomas?" Minerva asked, clearing her throat. Thomas shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

"Just ah...do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Entirely at a loss as to what this might be about but more than slightly concerned by the sudden awkwardness, Minerva supposed no harm could come. No irreparable harm, anyway.

"I'm told you're top of your classes, so I can't see what you'd need to ask, but alright."

"Oh. Right. But it's not about Transfiguration," Thomas waved on hand dismissively, shaking his head. "More about...Quidditch, actually."

Minerva nearly asked why in Merlin's name he was asking about Quidditch, of all things. Then with a start she remembered last week's tryouts, and that Thomas Cromwell was the new reserve Keeper.

"I'd think you'd want to talk to Charlus about that."

"But...he's always with Gabriel. I don't want to be a bother," Thomas's voice dropped into an odd sort of whisper for the last.

"Charlus likes talking about Quidditch, he wouldn't mind," Minerva assured him, adding a smile for good measure. Charlus Potter really would go on for hours about Quidditch if someone had the poor sense to bring the subject up at all. Thomas, for his part, seemed largely unconvinced.

"Alright fine," Minerva sighed, "Ask away."

"Do you think I'll do alright?" Thomas looked suddenly, gravely worried, as though this question was of great importance. Minerva took a moment to consider the question before giving her answer. Based on Gabriel's performance at trials, the odds were rather against Thomas ever seeing much time on the pitch, at least not in an actual game. But for a fellow who tended to be so clumsy on the ground, Thomas had done remarkably well during his turn at Keeper.

"I think with a bit of practice, you'll do just fine."

Thomas grinned broadly, cheeks reddening a bit.

"You really think so?"

"Of course," Minerva smiled again, this time more at Thomas himself. Lanky and clumsy and given to long expositions on Transfiguration theory, Thomas was nonetheless an endearing fellow. He would certainly do his best as Keeper, and Minerva figured that as long as he stayed on his broom he would do well enough.

"Well, I'd better get back then," Thomas gestured over his shoulder, "Study group and all."

"Anything particularly interesting?" Minerva asked, genuinely curious.

"It's all easy," Thomas said glumly, "But I suppose it's good practice."

Thomas led the way back down the row, Minerva following along and hoping she would find Tiberius calmly sulking at a table and ready to return to the common room.

"You haven't seen Alastor, have you?" she asked, largely as a precaution. If Alastor was in fact somewhere in the library, and Minerva failed to find him, Tiberius would never let her her hear the end of it.

Thomas frowned over his shoulder, shaking his head.

"Ah...no. Why?"

"Tiberius and I were looking for him," Minerva shrugged. "Nothing in particular."

Whether he actually understood or not, Thomas nodded and kept walking, waving goodbye as they reached the end of the row. He jogged off to join a table of fifth years, almost managing to slide into his seat without tripping on the way. Minerva laughed and shook her head, wandering away to find Tiberius. Ordinarily the tall Scotsman was relatively easy to locate, but even Tiberius was dwarfed by the towering shelves of the library. A dull, slapping noise echoed from nearby though, like skin meeting some hard surface, and Minerva moved in the direction of the sound.

Around the next shelf she found a secluded table with only three occupants. Sandy-haired Geoffery Goodchild was snickering, doing his best to keep quiet with one hand covering his mouth. Beside him was an unhappy-looking Donald Pritchett, leaned halfway across the table, and the space beneath Donald seemed to be covered in parchment and tarot cards. Tiberius sat on the opposite side of the table, grinning at Donald gleefully and twirling a card between his fingers. Suddenly the slapping noise made much more sense.

"Tiberius, give it back," Minerva said, adopting her prefect look and crossing her arms. Although a prefect himself, Tiberius' grin slipped instantly and he shoved the card back into Donald's outstretched hand.

"Any luck on your search, Minerva?"

"What search?" Geoffery had apparently recovered from his fit of laughter, sufficiently distracted by the prospect of a search.

"Already told you, we're looking fer Alastor," Tiberius sighed exasperatedly. "And you've been no help, thank you kindly."

Minerva slipped into the seat at the end of the table, setting her books down beside her. If the boys were going to argue, she figured she might as well be sitting down for the duration.

"Told you, h-he was here early, but we haven't s-seen him for an h-hour or so," Geoffery insisted. Tiberius nodded, thumping the table with one hand and pointing at Geoffery with the other.

"Exactly. No help at all."

"And as I'm sure you'll be quite upset to know, I didn't find him either," Minerva said. "Though you seem to have been distracted anyway."

"Distracted?" Tiberius scoffed, gesturing this time at Donald, who had yet to speak and was trying to sort his parchments back into some semblance of order. "Merely trying ta do some homework. Donnie's in my Divination class, you see."

Minerva frowned, recalling that the otherwise sensible Donald was indeed taking NEWT Divination. Now did not exactly seem like the time to tell him what she thought about this particular class. Not that her sentiments on Divination were any sort of secret anyway.

"Do you ever do your own homework?" she shook her head at Tiberius.

"Course not," Tiberius feigned surprise, "Why would I?"

Minerva rolled her eyes, head falling into her hands. Somehow she guessed this was probably her fault, loaning out copies of her essays for so many years. At least Donald managed to refuse, albeit with a fair amount of glowering and slapping.

"How go the predictions then, Donald?" Minerva attempted to change the subject, glancing up at Donald through parted fingers. Donald merely scowled, scooping the cards off the table in one smooth motion.

"Supposed to just be homework," he muttered, shuffling the deck with practiced ease. "Not supposed to be predicting anything."

"I thought that was the point of Divination," Geoffery said. "Predicting things."

"In a practical sense," Donald sighed, still shuffling with one hand as he pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. "But not for this exercise."

"So what you complaining for?" Tiberius asked. "A prophecy reveals itself ta you, and you're making an issue?"

"Because it's bad! I've got an awful feeling," Donald finished lamely, setting the deck down on the table and beginning to deal out the cards again. Tiberius rolled his eyes, waggling his fingers at Donald.

"Something terrible going to happen, Donnie?"

"Yes. No. I don't know," Donald sighed, "Maybe not something terrible. Bad news keeps showing up. Bad news. A message, a letter maybe..."

"I was told you're supposed to have all the talent in this subject," Minerva laughed in spite of herself, and felt immediately bad as Donald cast an annoyed look in her direction.

"It's not a set subject," Donald growled, slapping at Geoffery's hand as the Hufflepuff boy stole a card off the top of the deck. "And I'm doing the best I can."

Minerva was just about to apologize when she caught sight of a boy peering around the corner of one of the shelves, shaking his head and signaling for her to keep silent. Against her better judgment, Minerva did indeed stay quiet, watching out of the corner of her eye as Alphard Black snuck up on an unsuspecting Donald. Grey-eyed and classically handsome, Alphard had the looks, the money, and the noble family backing that could have put him into the elite social circles of Hogwarts and later the wizarding world at large. Much to his family's dismay, however, Alphard had long expressed a mischievous streak they felt was unbecoming in an heir of the House of Black. The fact that he preferred to associate with muggleborns rather than his fellow Slytherins did not much help matters. In what seemed to be Alphard's latest act of subtle rebellion, he had over the summer cut his hair into what Minerva assumed was the latest muggle style. Alphard's mother and sister were probably still having fits.

Tiberius had spotted Alphard now and was struggling not to grin. Geoffery meanwhile was quite pointedly looking in the opposite direction. Poor Donald was so focused on his cards that he failed to notice any of these signs, and thus very nearly leaped out of his skin when Alphard finally grabbed him.

"Easy there Donnie, I'm just saying hello," Alphard laughed as Donald tipped sideways and fell out his chair entirely, cards scattering through the air.

"Does no one," Donald growled, picking himself up off the floor, albeit with some assistance from Geoffery and Alphard, "Seem to understand that I'm trying to work?"

"Work's awfully boring," Alphard insisted, still too carried away with his own mischief to notice that Donald looked just shy of murderous. Minerva considered warning him but rather quickly decided that if Donald wanted to hex Alphard, a hex was well deserved. She busied herself retrieving the fallen cards, as did Tiberius, and they quickly managed to recover the half of the deck that had been scattered across the floor.

"There you go Don," Tiberius smoothed the deck back into shape, "Good as new."

Donald took the cards from Tiberius, muttering under his breath in what Minerva was fairly certain was not English. Straightening his owlish glasses back into place, Donald dusted off his robes and settled back into his seat, once more clearing the cards from the table. Alphard glanced around at the rest of the table's occupants, still grinning cheerily.

"Not all doing homework I hope?"

"I am," Geoffery said with a sigh, casting a sidelong glance at the pile of books that surrounded him.

"And you, Ms. McGonagall," Alphard tilted his head in her direction now, perilously close to adding a bow for good measure.

"My work's quite finished. In fact I've been dragged out to help Tiberius with his," Minerva said dryly. Alphard reached across the table and rapped his knuckles against the empty space in front of Tiberius.

"Doesn't seem to be working on anything."

"We're looking for Alastor," Tiberius said matter of factly. Then, at Alphard's confused look, added, "He's got Minerva's essay. Which I need."

"And...this couldn't wait?" Alphard frowned, asking the question Minerva had been asking herself for the past hour or so. This time, Tiberius managed to give a better answer.

"Would you rather sit about and wait?"

"No," Alphard struck the table again, sending a few cards bouncing out of place and earning a glare from Donald. "Indeed I would not. He's not here, I take it?"

Tiberius shook his head, and Minerva resigned herself to the fact that she would not be returning to the common room any time soon. She tried not to consider the fact that castle was very large, or that Alastor could be virtually anywhere, or that Tiberius was being a bit ridiculous.

"Who knows where he c-could be though," Geoffery pointed out, expressing yet another of Minerva's concerns. Why these boys never listened was entirely beyond her.

"Perhaps he was kidnapped," Donald muttered, not taking his eyes off the cards as set the last one into place. Tiberius seemed to be intrigued by this possibility.

"Could've been kidnapped - by Slytherins."

Tiberius had lowered his voice in an attempt to be dramatic, but the effect was rather lost as he glanced at Alphard and winced. "Er...no offense."

"None taken," Alphard grinned, "There are plenty of my housemates who have no fondness for Alastor Moody."

Tiberius seemed to be just as taken aback by this statement as Minerva felt. She knew in an abstract sort of way that Alastor and his temper had made quite a number of enemies in Slytherin House, but the flat honesty of Alphard's statement had been a bit unnerving.

"Well...that's...good ta know," Tiberius murmured after a moment, staring down at Alphard uncertainly.

Fortunately Alphard seemed too distracted by the idea of a mystery, and he kneeled down, elbows on the table and hands supporting his chin. He stayed like this only a moment though, abruptly bouncing upright, snapping his fingers and jarring the table once more. Donald froze, mouth set in a tight line, and Minerva seemed to be the only one to notice that the Ravenclaw boy's patience had grown dangerously thin.

"The kitchens!" Alphard exclaimed, casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure he had not drawn the attention of Madame Pince.

"Really?" Minerva arched an eyebrow. "And what gives you this grand idea?"

"It's late...not too late, but still. Well after dinner. Alastor's always hungry," Alphard began counting on his fingers. Tiberius, at least, seemed to have been successfully persuaded, rising him his seat and pushing his chair back into place so roughly that the table shook. Donald gritted his teeth, and Minerva decided that kitchens or no, now might perhaps be a very good time to leave.

* * *

The kitchens turned out to be nothing more than a waste of time. Minerva had stepped through the portrait to find Charlus and Gabriel and a table full of pastries. She was not entirely sure who had been more surprised. Tiberius had found the whole situation highly amusing, at least until he determined that neither Charlus nor Gabriel nor any of the house elves knew where Alastor might be. Although an offer to share in the stolen pastries was extended, Minerva declined, following Tiberius out the door and biding her classmates goodnight.

Once the portrait was back in place, Tiberius wasted no time in marching back toward the stairs. He was calmer at least, no longer all but bouncing with energy, though the sullen mood he had fallen into was not a huge improvement in Minerva's opinion.

"He's probably back in tha common room, isn't he?" Tiberius muttered, taking the stairs three at a time. Minerva found herself all but jogging to keep up.

"Probably."

"That's what you were trying ta tell me before," Tiberius sighed, pausing as the staircase shifted to meet a different corridor.

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself though," Minerva offered with a shrug. Tiberius paused mid-stride, turning with his mouth open as though he meant to argue this somehow. He froze though, a puzzled expression falling across his face. Before Minerva could ask what exactly he was doing, he shushed her, motioning for her to listen. She waited for a moment, straining at the silence and surprised when a noise echoed down the hall.

"What is that?" she whispered.

"I think I know," Tiberius grinned wickedly. "Merlin, this is tha best part of tha job. I'll be right back."

Minerva leaned back against a wall, watching as Tiberius snuck down the corridor, stopping at each door to listen. After a few feet he vanished into the darkness, keeping his wand unlit to avoid alerting whatever unfortunate souls he was about to surprise. Somewhere in the distance a door slammed against a wall, loud enough to make Minerva jump a bit in surprise. A beat of silence, then two, and then someone was shouting. Tiberius, based on the suddenly-thick Scottish accent. She could not quite make out the words, but she felt fairly confident that swearing was involved. Tiberius' voice was joined by a second, deeper voice, and the pair shouted at each other for a moment before the door slammed once more. Tiberius stormed out of the darkened corridor, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds and looking a bit shaken.

"Everything alright?" Minerva asked, fighting an urge to laugh.

"Spectacular," Tiberius said automatically, though his face was an alarming shade of red and his hands were combing through his curly hair, both signs that all was not well. "Let's get back ta tha common room, aye?"

Without waiting for a response, Tiberius all but sprinted for the stairs. Minerva considered teasing him, telling he deserved to be scarred now and then for taking so much enjoyment out of scaring the couples. He seemed quite upset though, still glancing over his shoulder and at one point seizing hold of Minerva's arm and pulling her along beside him.

"Did someone make a death threat?" Minerva managed, trying and failing to free herself from Tiberius' grip. She resigned herself to being pulled along and decided she could always hex him for this later.

"What? No, why?" Tiberius frowned confusedly, still rushing up the stairs at a rapid pace.

"You seem to be a bit panicked," Minerva informed him dryly. Tiberius forced a laugh, an odd, hollow sound that could not possibly have been more fake.

"Me? Merlin, I'm fine. Just fine."

They reached the Fat Lady's portrait, and Tiberius all but shouted the password, pushing Minerva inside first and then following as close as he could manage. The common room had filled up, and their abrupt entrance earned more than a few odd looks. Minerva faked a smile, never taking her eyes off the room as she spoke out the side of her mouth at Tiberius.

"What in Merlin's name is the matter with you?"

"Nothing," Tiberius' expression was impressively innocent. "Why?"

"You just..." Minerva sighed irritatedly and decided that if Tiberius wanted to be difficult, he could be difficult. Maybe he would learn a lesson about giving people a bit of warning before barging in. Thinking himself safe, Tiberius took the opportunity to make great haste toward the stairs to his dormitory. Not quite that willing to let him escape, Minerva dashed in front of him and cut him off. Tiberius ran one hand through his hair again, glancing around for any source of reinforcement, and when he found none, aimed a pleading look at Minerva.

"Come on, Minerva. Think I'm quite ready fdr bed. All this searching, seems ta have drained me."

"What about your essay?" Minerva asked, arching an eyebrow.

"You know, I think I'll finish it at breakfast," Tiberius acted as though this had been his plan all along. "Since we cannae find Alastor and all."

Rupert Scrimgeour's face appeared over the back of one the chairs near the sofa.

"If you're looking for Moody, he's probably with Bell."

Tiberius shut his eyes, swallowing hard and looking very much as though he would like nothing more at that moment than to bash Rupert's face into a wall. Minerva stood frozen, not at all believing Rupert's suggestion. Everyone knew that Rupert liked to pass around outrageous stories, surely this was just another one of his attempts at attention. Still, Minerva felt her stomach drop to someplace in the vicinity of the floor at the thin, flickering possibility that Alastor might indeed be off someplace with Bell.

"What?" she managed after a moment, keeping her voice impressively level.

"Bell. You know, Mirabell McKinnon. My cousin's in Ravenclaw, and he says that she and Moody have been sneaking about for a week now. Bell's quite happy to tell anyone who asks," Rupert grinned at the last, earning a few snickers from his fellow fourth years. Minerva found herself too shocked to speak. Too shocked to do much of anything at all, really. Breathing, that one she remembered. Thinking seemed a bit sluggish just now, thoughts trailing in fragments across her mind. Surely Alastor couldn't have really...he wouldn't have...not her. Not Bell.

"I think this is all a huge misunderstanding," Tiberius spoke at last, glaring first at Rupert and then softening his gaze as his attention shifted to Minerva. "I'll have a chat with Alastor, and we'll sort this all out."

"Sort all what out?"

Tiberius' eyes widened for a brief moment, then his shoulder slumped and he pressed both hands against his face, not daring to turn around.

"Sort all what out?" Alastor repeated, standing in the doorway and plainly confused by all the odd looks being directed his way. How he had entered the common room so quietly, Minerva neither knew nor cared. At the moment, all she wanted to do was hex him soundly, painfully, and with great fury. The first to speak though was Albert Moody, game of wizard's chess effectively abandoned as he frowned at his elder brother.

"Have you really got a girlfriend, Al?"

"Don't call me Al," Alastor grumbled automatically. The rest of the question seemed to register seconds later, as Alastor gaped at his brother. "What?"

"Rupert says you've got a girlfriend," Albert pointed at Rupert, who appeared to be trying to vanish into the chair. Alastor's face went scarlet, and had Minerva not been so upset she might have been concerned for Rupert's well-being.

"Go on, Alastor," Minerva spoke, her voice deathly calm as she stepped around Tiberius for a clear view of Alastor. "Tell them they're wrong."

Alastor looked like he might be ill, gaze falling to the carpet. He glowered at Rupert again, at Albert, at the back of Tiberius' head for good measure, but never once did Alastor's eyes meet hers. Minerva knew in that instant that Rupert had been quite correct, that Alastor's absences over the past week had been spent with Bell McKinnon. Some of the shock began to wear off, and Minerva managed another step closer, wand at the ready at her side. She was angry, horribly, awfully angry, but even more she was hurt, and she wanted nothing more than to make sure Alastor hurt too. Tiberius reached out, taking hold of her arm and stopping her mid-stride.

"Minerva, donnae-"

"Did you know?" Minerva rounded on him in an instant. Tiberius gaped for a moment, taken aback, but he quickly shook his head.

"No!"

"That makes two of us then," Minerva said coldly, jerking her arm free of Tiberius' grip. Alastor had yet to move from the spot at the entrance, looking utterly miserable now, a fact with which Minerva found herself quite pleased.

"Minerva, I-"

"I hope you enjoyed your evening, Alastor," Minerva cut him off smoothly, glowering at him overtop of her glasses. "Tiberius would like to borrow my essay, since you seem to be finished with it."

Without waiting for a response, ignoring Alastor's pleading look and Tiberius' gentle sympathy, Minerva turned on her heels and marched upstairs to the girls' dormitory, never once looking back. Not until she was safely locked in the bathroom, behind numerous silencing spells, did Minerva allow herself to cry.


	7. Epitomes and Courage

A/N - So after the last chapter, I believe the general consensus was that dear Alastor needed to be whacked overhead with a blunt object or two. I do believe quite a few characters agreed. Let's see how it's going, shall we?

* * *

Potions class had never been terribly interesting, and NEWT Potions had yet to be any different. Sure, there were the days when someone managed to foul up the directions and cause an explosion, but those days had grown more rare as the years went by. Alastor had always been fairly decent at Potions anyway, good enough to keep him on track for the Auror program at any rate. He also had managed to keep from brewing anything too disastrous since fourth year, a feat which he was rather proud of. Thus, while he knew that he really ought to be paying attention to Slughorn's lecture, Alastor found his mind wandering quite regularly. He did, after all, have quite a lot to think about, and Potions was not incredibly high on his list of concerns.

The past two weeks had been unpleasant at best. Minerva seemed to be utterly furious with him, an outcome which Alastor certainly had not anticipated. He had meant for her to perhaps be sad, jealous even. But certainly not angry. She had not spoken to him since the incident in the common room, and most of the time she ignored him if he made any attempt to speak to her. Some part of Alastor was really feeling a bit put-out by all this, and he had a fairly constant urge to apologize. Another part, a much more irritable part, tended to point out that Minerva had been the one to declare the boundary at friends, and thus she could not possibly be upset with him over all this. Not in fairness anyway. But she certainly was upset, and Alastor hated that she was upset because of him, and he hated even more that she seemed to have recruited a small army.

Most of the Gryffindor girls had quite effectively turned against him, and Alastor was fairly sure there were some Hufflepuff girls involved as well. They did not seem content to glower at him either, to sit by and say nasty things and take an overall defensive stance about the whole matter, as Alastor expected most girls would have done. As he would have been much more prepared to deal with. What he had not been prepared for was the constant threat that came from venturing outside the safety of his dormitory. His hand had been slammed in a door on three different occasions, earning him a spectacular purple line across his fingers. Alastor had lost count of how many times he had been hexed or jinxed in the last two weeks. He never caught sight of his attackers either, though he felt fairly confident Augusta Prewett was one of the ringleaders. Not that catching any of them would have done much good – Alastor did not especially feel it proper to be hexing girls, even if they had hexed him first. To some degree, Alastor knew he had probably earned the beating he was getting, but still, the constant trips to the Hospital Wing were beginning to be a bit much. Not to mention he was beginning to feel slightly paranoid, always having to watch his back in case of some new surprise attack.

"Perhaps Mr. Moody would like to tell us?"

The sound of his name brought Alastor abruptly back to reality – to the Potions' classroom, Slughorn's lecture, and the unpleasant realization that everyone seemed to be staring at him. Red began to creep across his face as Alastor tried and failed to recall what Slughorn had been talking about.

"Sorry sir, could you ah...repeat the question?" Alastor asked, glancing around in hopes that someone would offer some sort of help. Most of the girls in the room looked to be smirking, unsurprisingly. Tiberius was mouthing something overtop of Minerva's head, but Alastor had always been rubbish at reading lips and had no idea what his friend was trying to say.

"I was just wondering if you could tell us one use for lacewing flies," Slughorn said.

Alastor's mind went entirely blank, and he had a moment of horrendous panic, because he knew the answer to this, surely he knew the answer. No words came to mind though, and everyone was still watching him, Tiberius all but waving frantically now.

"Polyjuice Potion," Bell McKinnon murmured from the seat beside Alastor, mouth barely moving as she spoke. "That's what he's looking for."

"Polyjuice Potion!" Alastor answered a bit louder than he had intended, releasing a breath he had not realized he was holding. The smirks around the room began to fade, and Tiberius gave a quick thumbs up. Slughorn seemed more or less satisfied, nodding along as _Polyjuice Potion_ wrote itself on the board.

"Try not to keep your mid from wandering next time, Mr. Moody," Slughorn suggested cheerfully.

Alastor smiled weakly, dropping his head into his hands the moment Slughorn's back was turned.

He had been trying to keep his mind off things, really he had. Between Quidditch and NEWT classes, Alastor certainly had plenty to worry about without adding Bell and Minerva to the mix.

"Thanks," he whispered, not daring to take his eyes off the board.

"No problem," Bell squeezed his hand under the table, and Alastor managed another weak smile. Bell had been doing her best to distract him, that much was certain, though Alastor doubted she actually realized he needed distracting. She was a nice girl, and smart, but not terribly observant. Honestly Alastor had been hoping Bell would notice something amiss, perhaps accuse him of not paying enough attention to her or whatnot. The awful ache in his chest had returned and Alastor felt as though he needed to vent, needed to fight and shout at someone. He would just prefer if Bell happened to start the fight. Bell, however, did not seem to have any sort of fighting in mind, and the foot that had wrapped around his leg was a bit more distracting than Alastor would have liked, especially since Slughorn had already called on him once. Yes, a fight needed to happen soon. Alastor did not claim to be any sort of professional on the matter, but he felt rather confident that kissing one girl and nearly calling said girl the wrong name was a rather bad thing. Best to avoid that problem if at all possible. But first, he had to last through the rest of Potions.

* * *

The hour ended with relatively few incidents. Something had gone a bit wrong with his Potion, though thankfully nothing too severe. Judging by the disappointed looks on several female faces, someone had been expecting a much more spectacular effect. Alastor took an odd sort of amusement in knowing he had managed to foil their plan, this time at least.

"Honestly, I don't understand why we need double Potions," Bell was saying, determinedly wrapping her hand around his. Alastor thought he might have seen Minerva scowl sharply, but she had already turned away by the time he had a chance to properly look. "It's just so horribly dull."

Not really feeling that this statement denoted a reply, Alastor merely nodded and tried to look as though he agreed, filing out of the classroom behind the rest of the sixth years. He managed to take four steps into the corridor before the first jinx was cast, grazing off his shoulder and striking a nearby wall. Spinning on his heels, wand at the ready, Alastor scanned the crowd, pulse pounding, and he scowled furiously as once more his attacker blended into the crowd and vanished entirely.

"What's wrong?" Bell tugged at his sleeve, frowning a bit. She must have been talking again, Alastor realized. Rubbish. With one last glance in the direction the jinx had come from, Alastor tucked his wand into his pocket and turned back towards Bell. Almost immediately he was struck full in the face by a burst of yellow light. Had he not known better, Alastor would have thought he had been punched. Off balance from the force of the spell, Alastor staggered backward, stopping when he backed into the dungeon wall. His hands were almost immediately on his face, poking and prodding to make sure everything still seemed to be in place. To his surprise, nothing felt at all out of the ordinary – until he tasted blood on his lips, and his fingers came away coated in dark and sticky redness. Some sort of nosebleed hex, Alastor guessed, pressing one hand to his nose in an attempt to stop the blood. The girls were beginning to get a bit violent. Most of the sixth years had stopped to watch, joined by an arriving class of fourth years who looked slightly confused.

"Oh!" Bell shouted, drawing Alastor's attention abruptly back to her. She stood with her hands clasped over her mouth, looking quite horrified. Alastor attempted to reassure her that everything was fine, merely a strong hex that should wear off any moment. Unfortunately, he swayed a bit, suddenly dizzy, and found himself seated on the stone floor.

"Don't worry, Ally, I think I can fix it," Bell assured him, retrieving her wand from her bag. As much as he appreciated the latter part of the sentence, Alastor's attention had caught on whatever she had called him there in the middle. Something that had sounded horribly like 'Ally.' Surely, the blood loss was causing him to hear things. Bell crouched down, face set in concentration as she tapped her wand against his nose and murmured an incantation. Alastor felt no change, save for the coppery taste in the back of his throat, which was, in his experience, not necessarily a sign of improvement. Undeterred, Bell tried again, using a different spell this time. There was suddenly an awful, wrenching pain that flared across his nose, and Alastor squeezed his eyes shut and tried very hard not to swear out loud. The nosebleed continued, though thankfully the pain faded after a few seconds. Alastor was beginning to wish she would stop trying to help.

"It's not working," Bell sighed, frowning worriedly. "Don't worry Ally, you'll be fine."

There was that name again, and Alastor's stomach dropped as he realized he had indeed not been hearing things. People in the crowd were snickering, he was almost sure. They were snickering, laughing, probably pointing too, and his face was beginning to feel hot, and Merlin this was awful. Perhaps the floor could just swallow him whole and spare him the embarrassment.

"Move."

Bell abruptly fell out of Alastor's line of sight as someone's hands shoved her out of the way. Long arms were attached to the hands, long arms belonging to Tiberius, who bent down with a sigh. Wand in one hand, Tiberius began prodding at Alastor's nose with two fingers.

"Let it alone," Alastor muttered, "Think I'd rather bleed to death."

"Cannae have you dying, _Ally_," Tiberius shook his head, tapping his wand against Alastor's nose, a bit harder, in Alastor's opinion, than was really necessary. Unable to properly respond as he would have liked, with a quick fist to Tiberius' face, Alastor settled for threats.

"Call me that again, and I'll break your nose."

"As I'm sure you would," Tiberius laughed. "Think you've earned it though, mate."

"'Ally'?" Alastor managed in a pained whisper, mindful of the growing crowd and Bell's nervous chatter nearby. Tiberius attempted to cover another laugh with a cough, and failed miserably.

"I meant tha hexing, actually," Tiberius explained, "Tha nickname, that's bloody awful."

"Thank you," Alastor grumbled. "You going to fix this or not?"

"Donnae think I can. Off ta tha Hospital Wing with you. Again," Tiberius rose to his feet, reaching down and offering Alastor a hand. Alastor stood too fast, the world tilting dangerously as he struggled to brace himself on the wall. Tiberius caught hold of him though, before he managed to fall spectacularly and embarrass himself further.

"Is he going to be okay?" Bell asked, clinging to the sleeve of Alastor's robe.

"Sure, he'll be fine," Tiberius reached around Alastor and neatly pried Bell's hands away. "Probably not even any paler than normal."

If Alastor could have stomped on Tiberius' foot, he would have. Bell frowned again, moving in some sort of attempt to kiss him on the cheek. Between his hands and the general bloody mess that was his face, there really was not a lot of room for any sort of kissing, a fact which she seemed to realize rather quickly. The crowd finally began to clear, the fourth years looking a tad disappointed that the scene had been over so soon. Alastor glowered at them as best he could, but he doubted the look was up to his usual standards of intimidation.

"Did you want time for a proper goodbye, _Ally_?" Tiberius whispered, grinning wickedly. Alastor groaned and shut his eyes, trying very hard to pretend this was all an awful dream.

"Just shut up and get me to the Hospital Wing."

* * *

Madame Hewitt, the nurse, took one look at Alastor and shook her head, mouth set in a tight frown.

"Another fight, Mr. Moody?"

"No ma'am, someone hexed him," Tiberius said. "Dinnae see who did it."

"That seems to be happening to you quite frequently," Hewitt's gaze shifted pointedly to Alastor. True, he had been making almost daily visits to the Hospital Wing for the past couple of weeks. He had however been hoping that the nurse had not actually begun to notice precisely how often he was there.

"Dunno what you mean," Alastor mumbled, wobbling his way to a bed. His excuses had admittedly been thin at best, but really he felt as though Hewitt ought to have let the matter drop. Alastor did not especially care for the Hospital Wing, for the smell of cleaning potions so strong he could almost taste them in the air. Between Quidditch and various fights, Alastor had been forced to make numerous visits to the nurse over the years. He had never grown to care for the place though, and Madame Hewitt did not seem to especially care for him, and so they got along tolerably at best. Alastor suspected she saw him as a troublemaker, which sometimes he was, and sometimes he was the one who ended the trouble, so he found her assumptions a bit unfair. Still, on this occasion he was quite evidently in need of medical attention of some sort, as by this point his face, hands, and robes were quite covered in blood.

"Have you been injured as well, Mr. Kirk?" Hewitt asked, brushing past the Scotsman to retrieve a couple of potions from the nearby cabinet.

"Not that I'm aware of," Tiberius answered, waggling his fingers as proof.

"Then I suspect you should go on to your classes. Mr. Moody will be fine, I assure you," Hewitt left no room for argument, and although Alastor would rather not have been left alone in the Hospital Wing, Tiberius merely shrugged and waved goodbye. Once the door had closed again, Madame Hewitt turned her attention back to Alastor, a potion in either hand.

"Hold still."

Alastor had not actually been moving and thus found the order slightly unnecessary, but did as he was told and sat up a bit straighter. Hewitt set the potions on a nearby table and then pulled his hands away from his face, frowning at the state of his nose.

"That's a nasty little hex someone used on you," Hewitt retrieved her wand from the pocket of her apron, tapping it against Alastor's nose as Bell and Tiberius had already done. This time however, the charm or spell or whatever actually worked, and the bleeding stopped. Alastor grinned, which must have been a rather ghastly sight, given that most of his face was covered in blood. Hewitt seemed more exasperated than alarmed, sighing and using a quick _"Scourgify" _to clean him up.

"I'm sure it was an accident," Alastor said, not entirely surprised when Madame Hewitt seemed not to believe him.

"I do believe that's what you said the last time, and the time before that," Hewitt tucked her wand back into her pocket and picked up one of the potions from the table. "Here, drink this."

Alastor took the potion, surveying the contents dubiously before actually obeying. He did not want or need to sleep, and had no intention of taking the potion if even the smell suggested sedative powers.

"It's a blood-replenishing potion," Hewitt said wearily. "Nothing that will put you to sleep."

Alastor was not sure whether to be impressed or concerned that the nurse had known what he had been suspecting, and he watched her warily as he drank the potion. The taste was not so bad, and the dizziness left him almost instantly. When Alastor stood to leave though, Madame Hewitt's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"You ought to lie down for a bit, Mr. Moody," the nurse suggested. "You lost a fair amount of blood."

"Didn't think it was that serious," Alastor muttered, "And I don't need to lie down."

"You can either lie down for a little while, or you can spend the night here," Hewitt said cooly.

Alastor grumbled and complained, but the nurse would not be moved. Dropping his bag onto the floor, Alastor kicked off his shoes and swung his feet onto the bed, crossing his arms behind his head. Once satisfied that he was not going to argue further, Hewitt vanished the potions and made her way back toward her office.

"You know, if someone's bothering you. Hexing you all the time. Perhaps you ought to speak with your Head of House?" Hewitt suggested.

"Nobody's bothering me," Alastor said flatly. He had no intention of complaining to anyone that an army of girls seemed to be out to try and kill him. Such complaining would require an explanation of why precisely they were trying to kill him, and Alastor doubted he could manage that particular conversation. Hewitt shrugged, vanishing into her office without another word, and Alastor shut his eyes, figuring if he at least pretended to sleep the time might go by faster.

Bed springs squealed and rattled nearby, and Alastor opened one eye to see that the previously empty bed beside him had now been occupied by his younger brother Albert.

"What you doing here?" Alastor asked gruffly.

"Tobias Gibbon jinxed me," Albert shrugged, swinging his legs back and forth over the side of the bed. Even though Albert appeared to be perfectly fine, already healed, Alastor was still sitting upright in an instant, temper flaring.

"He did what?"

"Jinxed me. He was saying mean things about Philip though. Bad things," Albert said, dropping his voice to a whisper, "Called him a mudblood. So I told him off, and he jinxed me."

"Oh. Well. Good for you then," Alastor was too surprised to say much else. Of the pair of them, Albert was by far the calmer Moody brother, not to mention skinny and a bit small for twelve. He would grow of course, but Albert took more after their mother's side of the family and seemed destined for a slighter build. Alastor had never expected Albert to be picking fights with Slytherins, even in the defense of his friends.

"Why're you here?" Albert asked, looking highly pleased that Alastor had approved of his actions.

"Ah...some sort of nosebleed hex," Alastor muttered, "Nothing serious."

"Was it Minerva?" Albert bit his lip, legs halting mid-swing and eyes dropping to the floor as soon as he asked the question.

"I dunno," Alastor answered, being entirely honest even if Albert did not quite seem to believe him. "Really, I didn't see them."

Albert allowed a nod, but his gaze still did not leave the floor and he looked to be trying to say something else.

"Is it my fault she's upset with you?" Albert murmured finally, voice as small as he could manage.

"Merlin, no. Why would it be?" Alastor frowned, shaking his head.

"In the common room, after I asked if you had a girlfriend, she got awfully upset, and...and if I hadn't asked I guess she wouldn't be," Albert finished lamely, beginning to look a bit miserable. Alastor sighed and fixed Albert with a firm look.

"Wasn't your fault, Bert. She'd have been upset with me anyway."

"You're sure?" Albert did not sound entirely convinced.

"Positive," Alastor thought back to Potions' class, to the angry glares and all the hexing. Oh yes, Minerva would have been rather upset with him whether Albert had been involved or not. Albert seemed to be quite relieved by this, as though the matter had been bothering him for quite some time.

"Though...you should still make up with her," Albert suggested.

"Ah...well, I had...I had planned to," Alastor said, not entirely sure he wanted to be taking advice about girls from his twelve-year-old brother.

"Brilliant," Albert pushed off the bed, landing heavily on his feet. "When do you suppose we can leave?"

Alastor cast a quick glance in the direction of Hewitt's office. The door remained closed, even as Alastor retrieved his bag from the floor and slid first one foot off the bed, then the other. Albert was watching him with some some degree of excitement, eagerly edging his way out from between the beds.

"You remember, when we used to play hide and seek, and had to be very quiet, so we didn't wake Mum?" Alastor whispered, motioning for Albert to keep his voice down. He had no intention of being caught and force-fed potions, which Hewitt was sure to do if she realized what was going on.

"We need to be quiet as that?" Albert guessed, voice still a bit loud for Alastor's taste. Still, the office door remain closed, and Alastor began to creep forward, steps as silent as he could manage.

"Even quieter," he murmured over his shoulder, trying not to laugh at Albert's sudden look of concentration. "We'll have to be even quieter."

* * *

Alastor allowed his brother to enter the common room first, checking to make sure no angry nurses had followed them across the castle before entering himself.

"Thanks," Albert said cheerily. "Pleasure working with you."

Alastor laughed, shaking Albert's outstretched hand.

"Go on you, find Philip and the other lads."

Albert laughed this time, waving over his shoulder as he dashed off to the far side of the room. The place was relatively crowded, pockets of students gathered here and there, including a group of girls who seemed to be watching him with displeasure. He could not make out Minerva among them, but based on the looks he was getting she must have been somewhere close by. Alastor forced a smile in their direction and wrapped his fingers around his wand, just in case someone decided to try another jinx before dinner.

The afternoon was interrupted though as a series of screams tore through the chatter. Everyone froze, looking around to see who or what had caused the noise, several first years dropping their books in fright. From across the room, Albert leaned around another boy and glanced worriedly at Alastor, pointing toward the stairs that led up to the boys' dormitories. More screams, followed by what sounded alarmingly like howls, and Alastor found himself moving across the common room in rapid strides, motioning for his brother to stay away. Alastor reached the stairs at precisely the same time as Tiberius.

"Nice ta see you looking better," Tiberius said, sparing Alastor only a moment's glance as he leaned beneath the archway. "Surprised she let you out so soon."

"Sort of escaped," Alastor admitted, giving a bow at Tiberius' impressed look.

"Well done mate," Tiberius leaned forward a bit more, and then, bellowing up at whoever happened to be screaming, "What's going on up there?"

The answer came in the form of four third year boys, all of them pushing each other as they sprinted down the stairs, eyes wide and faces pale.

"What's happened?" Alastor demanded gruffly, steadying a sandy-haired boy who had missed the last step and nearly fallen.

"T-there's something in the dormitory. I think...I t-think it might be a werewolf," the boy said in a strained whisper, glancing back over his shoulder fearfully. The nearest students caught the answer, and "werewolves" passed through the common room in a rush of noise and faint panic. Alastor rolled his eyes and propped the boy against the wall. Werewolves in the castle. Absolutely absurd.

"You realize the moon isn't even up?" Alastor made sure to speak loudly, so that all the Gryffindors could hear him.

"More than one!" a second boy insisted, ignoring Alastor entirely. "Got to be a whole pack of them!"

"There's a pack of werewolves," Tiberius said dryly, "hiding in your dormitory?"

Apparently, none of the third years realized quite how ridiculous this idea sounded. All of them were nodding and gesturing back up the stairs, talking overtop of one another in an unintelligible rush. Tiberius looked to be preparing for some important prefect-version of telling the boys off, and Alastor had been intending to knock a few of the third years overtop of the head for causing a scene. A very definite howl cut though the air though, followed by another. The third years silenced instantly, hiding behind Alastor and Tiberius, and in the case of one boy, sprinting for the safety of the sofa.

"Must actually be something up there," Alastor grumbled, "This all the third years, or has one been eaten?"

Tiberius' glare had the look of someone trying hard not to laugh.

"I've no idea. I donnae keep track."

"You're a prefect, isn't that supposed to be your job?" Alastor asked with a frown.

"Minerva does all the technical work. I'm tha muscle," Tiberius grinned, flexing one lanky arm as proof. "Oi, Hitchens, this all tha lads in your dorm?"

Hitchens, the sandy haired boy, reappeared overtop of the sofa, shaking his head and glaring.

"No. Rubeus isn't here."

"Who?" Tiberius frowned as the other third years began to agree with Hitchens, none of them looking especially happy.

"I think he means Hagrid," Alastor whispered.

The only Hogwarts student who even came close to Tiberius' lanky height was Rubeus Hagrid, a third year Gryffindor who himself was not lanky by any definition of the word. Rumors had been passed around that unlike Tiberius, Hagrid actually did have a giant for one parent or another. Alastor could not recall whether or not anyone had proven that rumor to be true. What he did recall, however, was that Hagrid had been losing house points since first year for sneaking out to Professor Kettleburn's paddocks. He had some sort of fascination with magical creatures, preferably the dangerous ones. Suddenly the howls coming from the top of the stairs made much more sense.

"He's not here," Hitchens went on, glaring accusingly as if Hagrid might appear at precisely that moment, "And they're under his bed."

"Under...his bed?" Alastor repeated, not entirely able to believe what he was hearing. Surely, Hagrid would never actually bring anything dangerous into the castle, nor keep the creature under his bed, of all places. Hitchens and the other third year boys would not be convinced otherwise.

"Tried to eat us, they did!" one boy insisted, waving about a torn sleeve as proof of his close encounter. A rush of voices spilled across the common room, and Alastor realized that thanks to the third year boys, he and Tiberius had become the focus of everyone's attention. Alastor hoped his face had not gone quite as red as he suspected.

"What's happened now?" Minerva asked, frowning at Hitchens, the stairs, and Tiberius, all while pointedly ignoring Alastor. She had indeed been sitting with the group of girls Alastor had noticed earlier, though why precisely she had waited so long to venture toward the stairs was entirely beyond him. Alastor suspected her delay had something to do with the fact that he himself was standing inconveniently in her way. She had probably been hoping whatever was in the dormitory would eat him and spare her the trouble of killing him slowly.

"Seems there's some creature up there," Alastor gestured toward the stairs with his thumb. Minerva pretended not to have heard him, waiting for a reply from Tiberius.

"Sure they've just had a fright," Tiberius said matter of factly, "Nothing I cannae take care of."

Minerva shrugged, apparently content with the arrangement. There was a pause, and she looked to be about to speak, casting a nervous glance at the stairs before she changed her mind. Without another word, she gathered the still-panicked looking third years and led them towards the sofa, where Hitchens had hidden himself once more.

"Minerva," Alastor attempted, reaching out as she passed. She did at least look at him this time, albeit in the form of her intimidating prefect glare. Alastor felt rather confident he would have felt better if she had simply ignored him. Shaking his head, Alastor seated himself on the second stair, scowling as he realized that the crowded common room was still watching him.

"Go on then, nothing to see."

"We'll have this taken care of, nothing ta worry about," Tiberius smiled, as polite as possible while dismissing a room full of people. Slowly the dull roar of conversation returned to normal, and someone switched on a wireless set. Only one or two students chanced further looks in the direction of the boys' stairs now that the third years' hysterics were over.

"Off you go then," Alastor said shortly, "Got to go save the third years and all."

Tiberius hesitated, casting an anxious glance up the stairs as another howl sounded, this one thankfully muffled.

"Why donnae you...come with me."

"Well, aren't you just the epitome of Gryffindor courage?" Alastor snorted, not moving from his seat. He had dealt with quite enough wolves for one year.

"Oh, shut it. If you're so brave, why donnae you go get rid of them?" Tiberius scowled down at him, one hand on the banister as if he intended to throw himself up the stairs.

"I'm not a prefect. 's not my job," Alastor said matter of factly, leaning back and crossing his arms.

"Fine. Then I'll get Minerva ta come with me, since she is in fact a prefect, and then ye can sit down here and worry until we come back," Tiberius countered, eyebrows raised. Alastor's stomach dropped a bit at the thought, but surely Tiberius was bluffing. He had to be.

"Very funny. I don't worry."

"Perhaps one of us will be eaten..." Tiberius mused.

"Not bloody likely," Alastor grumbled. If whatever was in the dormitory had the ability to eat someone, Gryffindor House would be short a third year student or two. Still, Tiberius' threat did not seem to be an idle one.

"Minerva, would you -" Tiberius grinned wickedly at Alastor before glancing over his shoulder in the direction Minerva had gone.

"Oh, bloody hell! Come on then, let's get this over with," Alastor cut him off, standing abruptly before Tiberius could actually succeed in drawing Minerva's attention. As upset with him as she was, Alastor hated the idea of her dealing with whatever Hagrid had dragged into the castle. Of course, the mere fact that he was being protective likely would only make her more upset...Alastor began to realize he was in more of a mess than he had originally thought.

"After you," Tiberius insisted, expression all innocence once more. Alastor considered hitting him, then decided to wait until later when there would be fewer witnesses. Lighting his wand, Alastor pointedly shoved past Tiberius and began the climb.

"Has it occurred ta you," Tiberius said slowly, voice echoing in the staircase, "that perhaps that was a bad idea?"

"You're the one that made me come along," Alastor muttered.

"Not this. I meant tha business with Bell," Tiberius explained.

"I apologize for not being able to read your mind," Alastor said, rolling his eyes. Tiberius snorted and muttered something under his breath, but Alastor was slightly distracted by the thud that shook the door to his right. Jumping backward and pointing his wand at the door, Alastor found himself shoulder to shoulder with Tiberius against the opposite wall.

"Suppose we ought to go in," Tiberius murmured, eyes never leaving the door. Another thud, and the whole frame shuddered beneath the impact this time. Alastor swore under his breath and decided someone needed to have a talk with Hagrid. Preferably soon.

"How do you want to do it?" Alastor asked. He did his best to sound light, conversational, as though he were asking how to go about a homework problem and not how to break into an apparently guarded dormitory. Tiberius considered the question for a moment.

"I'll open tha door. You ken deal with whatever's hitting it," Tiberius concluded.

"And what exactly am I supposed to do?" Alastor asked incredulously.

"Jinx it," Tiberius said, smiling tightly, "Or, if you prefer, punch it."

Alastor waved a rude gesture at Tiberius with his free hand.

"Whenever you're ready then."

Rather than counting or giving any sort of practical warning, Tiberius flourished his wand and sent a jet of red light across the hall. The door swung open, wide enough for Alastor to catch a glimpse of a large furry shape seconds before it dove at him. His memory flashed back to the forest, the wolves, the glow of pale teeth in moonlight, and his heart was suddenly pounding in his ears.

"_Stupefy!_"

The shape dropped with a yelp, sprawling across the floor in an ungainly heap.

"Merlin," Tiberius breathed, "Really is a wolf."

While admittedly a much smaller version of the wolves Alastor had most recently seen, the shape on the floor did seem to be a wolf nonetheless.

"Donnae suppose it's a werewolf do you?" Tiberius bent down, prodding at the stunned wolf with his wand. "Tis a small fellow. Must be a cub."

Alastor took a moment to calm his breathing and force his heartbeat to return to normal before crouching beside Tiberius. Mindful of the teeth, and of the slightly unsettling fact that the cub could wake up any second, Alastor checked first the snout, then the tail and eyes. As he suspected, the cub was simply a perfectly average wolf. Who was, for some reason, in the third year boys dormitory.

"What part of 'the moon isn't up yet' didn't you understand?"

"Could it not have been a werewolf...cub?" Tiberius asked, either determined to defend his point or genuinely confused.

"No such thing," Alastor said gruffly. "Just a regular wolf...cub."

Tiberius nodded in understanding at this, and then, for some reason, began to laugh.

"What in Merlin's name is funny about this?" Alastor growled.

"Sorry mate, it's just...I'll bet you this is what had tha wolves so upset before," Tiberius managed in between rounds of laughter. At Alastor's frown, he added, "When we were in tha forest. Something had them all riled up."

Much as Alastor hated to admit the fact, Tiberius did have a point. The wolves in the Forbidden Forest had been rather irritable, but at the time Alastor had put that down to the three students who had wandered too far from the castle. The kidnapping of a few cubs offered a much better explanation.

"So...Hagrid decides to keep a cub or three as pets..." Alastor murmured, rising back to his feet again. "And brings them to his dormitory."

"That sounds a bit mental," Tiberius prodded at the cub with one foot.

"It is mental," Alastor sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What we going to do about it?"

Tiberius frowned, stepping around the cub and venturing into the dormitory. He returned moments later with a stack of books. Before Alastor could ask what use books would be for this occasion, Tiberius dropped the first book to the floor. With a wave of his wand, the book transfigured into a large crate that looked to be just big enough for the cub.

"Impressive," Alastor allowed, levitating the cub into the crate and sealing the lid shut. As an after thought, he added a few holes to the top of the box. Tiberius grinned proudly, dropping the other books onto the floor and repeating the spell three times more.

"And now, we go fishing," Tiberius levitated the crates into the dormitory, motioning for Alastor to follow.

"Spectacular," Alastor muttered. The lights in the room flickered on as soon as he walked in the door, revealing a room that could compete with the sixth year boys' in terms of overall mess.

"Where do ye suppose they are?" Tiberius kicked over a pile of books and parchment, largely by accident.

"Said they were under a bed," Alastor shrugged, "Guess we could just summon them."

"No!" Tiberius shook his head furiously, knocking Alastor's wand down. "Might hurt them that way."

"Since when do you...why does that...It would not!" Alastor insisted, swearing as Tiberius ignored him. With a sigh, Alastor bent down and began to look for the cubs.

The first bed he checked hid nothing more than old socks and copious amounts of dust, enough that Alastor found himself sneezing horribly for a few seconds. Tiberius did not seem to be having much luck either. Alastor had just begun to wonder if perhaps the other cubs had slipped away when he ducked down to look beneath a bed and found himself face to face with a pair of golden eyes.

"Tiberius..."Alastor did not dare make any sudden moves, "Think I found them."

"Brilliant," Tiberius said. Footsteps crossed the room, and one of the crates landed beside Alastor's leg. Keeping his wand ready in one hand, Alastor reached out slowly, gently pulling the cub toward the edge of the bed. Once out into the open, the cub was levitated away by Tiberius and deposited in one of the crates.

"How many more?" Tiberius asked.

"Just two I think," Alastor could see two more shapes beneath the bed, but both were out of reach. After a moment's thought, he summoned one of the socks he had seen early and transfigured it into a bone. The nearest cub took almost immediate interest.

"Come on lad, come get the nice bone," Alastor murmured, halfway under the bed and breathing in dust again. The house elves really needed to step up on their cleaning.

"You know, you never did answer my question," Tiberius said slowly.

"What question?" Alastor growled, not really in the mood for Tiberius' antics.

"About whether it occurred ta you that tha business with Bell was a bad idea," Tiberius tone was light, but Alastor suspected the Scotsman was actually glaring at him quite pointedly.

"Are we actually going to have this conversation?" Alastor glanced over his shoulder at Tiberius, sparing only a moment in case one of the cubs tried to eat his fingers.

"Yes, Alastor, we are having this conversation," Tiberius said exasperatedly.

"Now?" Alastor asked, dropping his voice as one of the cubs crept closer to the outstretched bone. "There's a good lad, come on..."

"Well when else am I going to talk to you?" Tiberius countered, sounding as though he had been giving the issue a fair amount of thought. The cub chose that moment to attempt to steal the bone, claws swiping empty air as Alastor pulled the prize away once more.

"Maybe when I'm not trying to bait wolf cubs out from under a bed?" Alastor grumbled. Tiberius snorted, and Alastor guessed he was probably waving his hands about as well.

"You're always with her! Off snogging her in empty cupboards and classrooms..."

"Oi! I'm not just going about snogging her," Alastor raised up on his elbows and did turn a glare in Tiberius' direction for that particular comment. He and Bell did other things besides snog...some of the time, at least. Tiberius' eyes widened, all mock concern.

"My mistake, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that's how people studied nowadays."

Alastor's face went brilliantly red, but before he could properly respond the cub finally caught up to the bone, teeth clamping down. Unfortunately, the cub managed to snag one of Alastor's fingers as well. Thankful at least for the distraction, Alastor shifted back into place and resolutely stuck his head beneath the bed so that Tiberius could not see his face. They had never previously mentioned the incident in the classroom, and Alastor had been hoping Tiberius would never bring the matter up at all. Apparently he had simply been waiting for the right time. Traitor.

Once his finger was free, Alastor managed to catch the cub by the scruff of the neck, yanking the animal out from beneath the bed and depositing it in one of the transfigured crates. Neither he nor Tiberius made eye contact, and Alastor rolled back on his stomach and set about trying to bait the last of the cubs into crawling out.

"Not to mention she's got that mental friend. Utterly demented," Tiberius said finally, apparently determined to keep on the subject.

"She's not demented," Alastor sighed, not entirely sure why he felt the need to defend Bell's friend. Politeness, perhaps. Or just his usual inclination to be difficult. Maybe some combination of both.

"She glares at me, mate. I've seen her. She donnae think I've noticed, but I have," Tiberius insisted, striking his hand against one of the crates as a cub started to howl.

"You're paranoid," Alastor declared, whistling in a vain attempt at catching the sleeping cub's attention. The creature had curled against the far post of the bed, seemingly unreachable. Perhaps, though, if he crawled forward just a bit...

"No, you're paranoid. I'm aware of imminent danger," Tiberius said matter of factly.

"At all times?" Alastor stretched forward, wiggling his fingers in an attempt to reach the sleeping cub. "Or does that only apply to vicious Ravenclaw girls?"

"You're avoiding my question," Tiberius seemed to expect that this fact allowed him to ignore Alastor's question in turn. Given the circumstances, Alastor did not feel much inclined to press the issue.

"Well what do you want me to say?" Alastor asked, poking the cub with two fingers. One eye blinked open, then the other. Satisfied with his work, Alastor began to crawl backward toward the edge of the bed, only to meet resistance against his shoulders. Perfect.

"You could attempt to explain your logic. If any logic were involved. Which I doubt," Tiberius said pointedly. Alastor sighed, attempting to push himself free as the cub slowly climbed to its feet. His logic behind been largely prompted by the idea that if Minerva did not care, Bell certainly seemed to. Somehow Alastor knew that was precisely what Tiberius expected him to say though, and thus was determined to say anything but.

"She's very...nice. And pretty. She's pretty..." Alastor rather abruptly ran out of things to say. The cold, wet nose that was suddenly pressed against his face was more than a bit distracting.

"And you're making a point," Tiberius declared triumphantly.

"I'm not making any point!" Alastor insisted, trying desperately not to sneeze again as the dust swirled.

"Rubbish. Are so," Tiberius seemed determined to argue, or win, or just to torment him in general. Whatever the reason, Alastor did not all appreciate the interrogation. The cub sniffed Alastor's hair, apparently too distracted to take much interest in the bone. Alastor held his breath, trying to stay quiet, and failed entirely to prevent the sneeze he knew had been imminent. The dust flew into the air now, stinging his eyes, and the cub yelped and made a dash for the edge of the bed. Another yelp signaled that Tiberius had snagged the little fellow easily, dropping him into the last crate.

"Dunno what you're talking about," Alastor muttered, finally managing to free himself from beneath the bed. He rolled onto his back for a moment, breathing clean air and trying to clear his eyes. Tiberius loomed above him, hands on his hips.

"Be difficult all ye like," Tiberius aimed a kick at the nearest crate, whose occupant had begun howling again. "Ye and I both know why ye did it."

"Fine," Alastor growled. He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Tiberius' offered hand. "You know. So what?"

"Just think ye ought to fix it," Tiberius shrugged, "She's awfully upset."

Alastor glanced up from dusting off his trousers.

"Really? I had no idea. Thought she just slammed the door on my hand for no reason."

"Do what ye want mate. I'm just trying ta help," Tiberius sighed, combing a hand through his curly hair. Alastor did not recall asking for help, nor did he want help, and he was beginning to be a bit annoyed that everyone seemed so keen to give him advice about this. Next, Gabriel Valentine would be cornering him in the library to explain the art of women. This mess had grown entirely out of hand, though as much as Alastor was concerned by this he had no intention of admitting precisely how concerned. He had caused the problem, surely he could fix it as well.

"All I need help with is getting these crates back downstairs," Alastor gestured at the crates with his wand, levitating two. Tiberius shook his head, for a moment looking as though he might press the issue. At Alastor's glare though, Tiberius merely levitated the other two crates and guided them towards the door.

"Suppose we ought ta get them out of the castle," Tiberius said lightly, changing the subject with a great deal of reluctance. Still, Alastor appreciated that he had let the matter drop. Right now, he was determined to distract himself with the wolf cubs and the third year responsible for bringing them into Gryffindor Tower. He could worry about Minerva later.

"Get them out of the castle," Alastor agreed, "And have a long talk with Hagrid about his choice of pets as well."


	8. Sending a Message

A/N: The chapter's sort of a "brief interlude", if you will. The calm before the storm and whatnot. *cues up the dramatic music* So just for this chapter, we have a special guest PoV that I've been wanting to try. Oh and also, we're into the month of October in story-time now. Mid-October to be exact.

* * *

The next couple of weeks managed to pass with relatively few incidents. There had of course still been plenty of menacing glares and a number of thinly veiled threats. Tiberius suspected a rumor or two had been passed around, but he had heard nothing himself. This was vaguely disappointing, as Tiberius liked to consider himself aware of the most interesting goings on at Hogwarts. Still, at least no one seemed to be lurking behind suits of armor to hex Alastor in the back, an tactic which Tiberius had never felt was particularly fair to begin with. Alastor might have earned a hex or two, but he certainly ought to have the chance to defend himself. Especially since the girls seemed to be growing more and more vicious. After the nosebleed hex that had put Alastor back in the Hospital Wing, Tiberius had decided the time had come to have a chat with Minerva. Revenge was one thing, and if Minerva was determined to make a point, Tiberius was certainly not about to stop her. But Tiberius had no intention of standing by while Alastor was used for target practice by half of the girls in sixth year. Fortunately, Minerva seemed to share his sentiments on the matter. She had been quite upset to hear about the hexing after Potions, and although she did not know who had been responsible, she had promised Tiberius that the matter was already taken care of.

Since then, only Augusta or Minerva herself actually harassed Alastor directly. The rest of the girls seemed to have been relegated to the sidelines, which seemed far more appropriate in Tiberius' opinion. The issue was between Minerva and Alastor after all, not Alastor and Minerva and all other females in the school. At no point could Tiberius recall his sisters telling stories about rows of this proportion, and he was beginning to suspect that he now found himself in the middle of a sort of small-scale war. The idea sounded rather appealing anyway, especially since Tiberius himself was not directly involved in the conflict. Alastor still spoke to him regularly, and Minerva was just fine so long as Alastor was nowhere to be seen. Tiberius did recall one sister or another warning him about hanging about in the middle, caught between the two sides. But no one seemed to be firing at him anyway, and the middle at present appeared to be the safest place to be. Perhaps from there he would be able to talk some sense into his two friends.

Tiberius reached the Great Hall with the rest of the breakfast crowd, having seen no point in waking up any earlier than he had to. He had made a valiant effort to wake Alastor, or at least as much of an effort as he deemed safe. Alastor had thanked him for this effort by throwing a pillow and cursing rather impressively for someone who was half-asleep. Tiberius had thus given up, deciding that if Alastor wanted to sleep through breakfast he was certainly welcome to do so. Minerva was already at the Gryffindor table, Ancient Runes book open beside her plate. Tiberius sat down across from her, careful not to strike his knees against the underside of the table.

"Is Alastor with you?" Minerva glanced up from her book for barely a second.

"No," Tiberius sighed, "And good morning ta you too."

Minerva smiled wearily at that, closing her book and tapping her fingers across the cover.

"Sorry. Just habit by now."

"Nah. Tis alright," Tiberius said, scooping a handful of toast onto his plate. "Might I ask how you are?"

"Fine, I suppose," Minerva shrugged, "Why?"

"I cannae just be wonderin'?" Tiberius asked with a laugh. Minerva typically looked either gloomy or irritated these days - this morning, the mood seemed to be gloomy. Tiberius suspected that as soon as Alastor showed up, irritated would make a return.

"Hmm. I don't trust you," Minerva said, and Tiberius was pleased to see a grin edging at the corners of her mouth.

"Probably fer tha best," Tiberius dropped his voice to a whisper, nodding solemnly.

Minerva laughed outright at that, a fact which Tiberius counted as a great accomplishment. She could be far too serious sometimes, especially when she was worrying over something - or in this case, someone. Tiberius had never seen much use in worrying over things that lay outside his control, save perhaps for exams. Exams were worth worrying over. Perhaps Quidditch matches as well, on the rare occasion. And Tiberius did of course reserve the right to worry about his friends, when the situation seemed appropriate. On the whole, Tiberius liked to pretend that worry was not an emotion with which he was familiar, but all this business with Minerva and Alastor and Bell was ruining his efforts.

"When's tha next prefect's meeting?" Tiberius decided he ought to quit while ahead and change the subject, before Minerva's melancholy could return. If he kept her distracted, perhaps she would even cheer up before the end of breakfast.

"Tuesday, I believe. They're handing out new patrol schedules," Minerva answered after a moment of thought. "And then they're-oh."

Tiberius was a bit thrown off by the sudden stop, and he followed Minerva's abrupt frown to find Alastor standing to his right. Judging by his messier-than-usual hair and wrinkled robes, Alastor had been in a bit of a rush to reach breakfast. Served him right for staying up so late.

"Morning Tiberius," Alastor nodded in his direction, seating himself on the bench. Then, chancing an awkward looking smile, "Minerva."

Minerva maintained her frown, but did at least give a faint nod in Alastor's direction. Tiberius took this as a sign of some marginal improvement. Any day where she did not try to outright hex Alastor was an improvement, really. Minerva pointedly reopened her Ancient Runes book and resumed her reading, apparently intent to be as occupied as possible. Tiberius figured he ought to take the improvements as they came, even if they tended to come at an unbearably slow rate.

"Quidditch tonight," Alastor said shortly, eyes on Minerva as he spoke. She pretended not to hear him. Rather than let the awkward silence continue, Tiberius figured he ought to speak, before Alastor could turn too red in the face.

"Supposed ta rain, I'm told."

"Is it? Make for a interesting evening then," Alastor's voice was almost painfully cheerful, which was highly disconcerting. Tiberius made mental note to tell him never to speak like that again. The three of them - or really, two of them, because Minerva still had yet to speak - drifted into silence again. Tiberius did not much care for this, because he had spent five years at meals with Alastor and Minerva and could not recall a single occasion when more time had been spent staring at the table than talking. Sixth year, however, had seen a fair amount of this habit, and Tiberius was beginning to consider taking his meals at the Ravenclaw table with Donald.

"Good morning!"

Minerva had been frowning before, but now she was very definitely scowling, turning pages in the Runes book a bit viciously as Bell McKinnon leaned down to kiss Alastor on the cheek. Alastor's face went shockingly red as he mumbled out what Tiberius guessed was a greeting of some sort. Bell had stopped using the name "Ally", at least publicly, much to Tiberius' disappointment. She was a nice enough girl, a bit talkative and surprisingly unobservant for a Ravenclaw. But then, Tiberius supposed not all Ravenclaws were like Donald Pritchett, treating every aspect of life like some giant puzzle. Vaguely Tiberius wondered if Donald drove all the other Ravenclaws a bit mad.

"Hello, Tiberius," Bell greeted him cheerfully, even throwing in a little wave. Tiberius found himself waving back, and quickly occupied his hands with another piece of toast and a fork. Alastor said something too quietly for Tiberius to hear, but Bell apparently caught the words just fine. She frowned a bit, and sighed as though she were being greatly put upon.

"Good morning to you too, Minerva."

Tiberius nearly dropped his toast in surprise. Even before she started seeing Alastor, Bell had never, to Tiberius knowledge, spoken to Minerva. He supposed he ought to be sort of impressed that Bell was at least trying, albeit rather begrudgingly. At least someone was making an effort.

"Good morning," Minerva managed after a moment, working quickly to hide the shock on her face. Tiberius guessed she would last a few minutes more before disappearing to another seat somewhere along the table. Minerva never did stay long whenever Bell made an appearance, which was probably for the best. Tiberius, for his part, did not so much mind hanging about with Alastor and Bell, so long as Rosie Priest was nowhere in the immediate area. At times, Tiberius honestly felt a bit sorry for Bell, whose only real fault was spectacularly bad timing.

The morning owls swooped in, the usual brown Ministry bird depositing a new copy of the Daily Prophet in front of Tiberius. The headlines proclaimed mounting death tolls on the Continent, a definite dampening of the morning's already dismal mood. At least the Prophet provided a nice distraction from the awkwardness, Tiberius decided as he paid the delivery bird. Before he could properly open the paper though, a large grey owl landed in front of Alastor, who looked quite surprised to be receiving mail of any sort.

"That's not your family owl, 'less you've painted tha thing," Tiberius said dryly, losing interest in the morbid paper almost immediately. Minerva was glancing up from her book, though only Tiberius seemed to notice this. Alastor was too busy frowning at the owl, and the letter that said owl had dropped onto his plate.

"Nah, it's not ours," Alastor agreed, slowly picking up the letter. "Don't think it's one I've ever seen."

"Well go on, open it," Bell insisted as the grey owl flapped it's wings twice and took flight once more.

Alastor turned the letter over a time or two, but there seemed to be no writing at all on the envelope, save for Alastor's name on the front.

"What do you think?" Alastor glanced up at Tiberius, twirling the letter between his fingers.

"Suppose it cannae do any harm," Tiberius shrugged, hoping that this was not going to turn into someone's idea of a perfect, untraceable hex. Alastor seemed to consider asking Minerva for a moment, then bit his lip and decided against the idea, much to Tiberius' disappointment. The two of them had to start speaking again. Eventually. Turning the letter over one final time, Alastor tapped his wand against the top of the envelope. Before he could retrieve whatever was inside though, a loud crash echoed across the hall, followed by a roar of "STOP!"

Tiberius looked up sharply, halfway drawing his wand. At the Ravenclaw table, Donald Pritchett seemed to have made an effort to dive across from one bench to the other, scattering a number of plates in the process. Donald struggled over the remaining distance, tumbling to the floor, and as amusing as the scene was, quite a number of Ravenclaws looked just shy of furious.

"Just a letter, Don!" Tiberius shouted back, "What you on about?"

"Don't open it!" Donald managed to right himself, glasses crooked and what looked to be egg splattered across the front of his robes. Hurriedly he crossed the space between the tables, apparently oblivious to the fact that half the hall was now watching him. Alastor, meanwhile, was not at all oblivious, and had begun to turn red again. Tiberius just smiled at everyone, adding a little wave for good measure. Finally, Donald fell into the empty seat beside Minerva, shaking his head.

"Don't open it!" he repeated. "It could be bad!"

"It...what?" Alastor scowled, jerking the letter out of Donald's reach.

"I've been getting readings. Over and over. Bad news," Donald explained, finally fixing his glasses. Tiberius fleeting recalled a library study session, Donald bent over a table and dealing cards again and again. At the time, Tiberius had put the whole thing off to stress, to normal Donald taking homework too seriously. There had still been some nagging concern though, because Donald really was fairly accurate in Divination, far more accurate than anyone Tiberius had ever seen. But Donald was meticulous, precise, not panicky and egg-splattered and waving his hands about wildly. Something certainly had him upset, and that worried Tiberius more than he had expected.

"Rubbish," Alastor snorted. "You and your mental Divination."

Donald looked to be about to protest further, reaching out once more, but Alastor had already emptied the letter from the envelope. While still scowling at Donald, Alastor managed to flatten out the creases on the parchment with one hand. Tiberius leaned over for a moment, putting his height to use and trying to see who the letter was from. He only managed the first few lines before Alastor noticed, however, tilting the parchment out of Tiberius' line of sight. Minerva was watching, more or less, but she seemed to be trying to hide this fact. A few weeks ago, and she would have joined in Alastor's bashing of the subject of Divination and all practitioners. Tiberius, as a Divination student, would have feigned grave offense. There would have been an argument of some sort, a mock apology or two, and then...Alastor gasped, drawing back Tiberius' attention abruptly.

"What is it?" Donald nearly made another table-crossing leap, but Minerva grabbed onto his robes and held him in place. Alastor did not answer, a wide grin spreading over his face as he finished reading the letter.

"It's from my da!"

Tiberius found himself grinning as well, Alastor's lightened mood apparently contagious. Before the war, Tiberius had stayed with Alastor during the summer on several occasions, and had always liked Mr. Moody and his odd sense of humor. During one particular summer, when the weather had been miserable and rainy for days on end, Mr. Moody had taken the boys to the Muggle cinema. Tiberius, a pureblood who had never spent any amount of time in Muggle London (or Muggle anyplace, for that matter), always recalled the adventure with a certain sense of accomplishment. Not to mention Tiberius found himself at a sudden advantage over his older sisters, who had never done anything especially Muggle. But Mr. Moody had left fairly soon after that, going off to fight abroad, defeat the dark wizards, and do all sorts of heroic things that Tiberius remembered from bedtime stories of long ago. Tiberius of course had learned by this point that real life was not quite the same as storybooks, but that did not stop him wanting to go along on some of Mr. Moody's adventures.

"He's...well it doesn't say where he is, I don't think he can talk about that," Alastor went on, speaking all in a rush. Tiberius found Alastor's enthusiasm a welcome change, and even Minerva appeared to be trying very hard not to grin openly. She was failing, of course, but Tiberius decided against pointing this out. He would take the improvements where he could get them.

"Nice ta here from him though," Tiberius said instead. He made another attempt to read over Alastor's shoulder now, but the handwriting was so messy that Tiberius was astounded anyone had been able to read the letter at all.

"He'll be home for Christmas," Alastor said excitedly. "You'll have to come visit!"

"I'd love to," Bell smiled, giving Alastor a sort of halfway hug.

But Alastor had not been looking at Bell when he spoke. The offer had been aimed at Minerva, who seemed to be having trouble continuing to ignore Alastor. Perhaps on this occasion, Bell's lack of observational skills was in fact a very good thing. Minerva did not respond though, merely turned a page in her book without so much as a nod. Alastor looked as though someone had struck him in the face. Tiberius cleared his throat, deciding now might perhaps be a good time to intervene, since the improvements seemed to have come to an abrupt and painful end.

"Does that include all of us, or just tha fair maidens?"

"It's...oh, all of you, of course," Alastor recovered after a moment, smile slipping a bit around the edges. Hastily he rose from his seat, nearly overturning his plate in the process. "I ought to go tell Bert."

Nobody argued this, and Alastor pocketed the letter and set off down the table in search of his brother. Donald still sat in the space beside Minerva, looking a bit put out that his prediction had not actually come true.

"There now, Don," Tiberius said, "Not bad news t'all. You ought ta be happy."

"Right," Donald mumbled, staring vacantly at nothing in particular.

"So," Bell bit her lip, considering some question or other, "You thought Alastor was going to get bad news?"

"I don't know!" Donald wailed, knocking his head against the table with a jarring thud that caused everyone in the area to jump. "It's like I know something's going to happen, but I don't know when or what. I can't stand not knowing!"

"I'd noticed that," Tiberius said dryly. This was all beginning to concern him a bit. Perhaps Donald had been jinxed and needed to pay a visit to Madame Hewitt...

"I need to go to the library," Donald announced, standing and walking away before anyone had time to respond.

"And that," Minerva closed her book with one hand, straightening her glasses, "is why Divination is an atrocious subject. It makes even the most practical of wizards go utterly mad."

This, combined with Tiberius mock-hurt expression, managed to earn a laugh from Bell, a result which Minerva clearly had not been expecting. Bell seemed to be a bit surprised as well, the laughter drifting off awkwardly after a moment or two. Tiberius was beginning to be very tired of awkwardness. Awkward conversations, awkward silence...all the awkward was beginning to drive him slowly mad. Soon he would be diving over tables and ranting about predictions and letters.

"Do you think he's coming back?" Bell asked, drumming her fingers on the table and frowning in the direction Alastor had gone.

"I doubt it," Minerva said shortly. Bell's frown shifted to Minerva now, and Tiberius prepared himself to intervene in case Bell was unwise enough to start an argument. Merlin, he had grown up with three elder sisters, and never had he been so sick of bickering women. This was all getting a tad ridiculous. Fortunately, Bell stood up, brushing off her robes and fixing the blue ribbon that held back her hair.

"Tell him I'll see him later then?"

Tiberius nodded, not watching long enough to see if Bell actually noticed his agreement before turning a pointed look in Minerva's direction.

"Could ye at least try ta be nice?"

"Hmm?" Minerva adopted a deceptively innocent expression. "I was."

_Nice_ was not really the term Tiberius would have applied to Minerva's tone, but he decided to let the matter drop. He had no intention of dodging hexes on his way to class. With Alastor and Bell both gone, and a relatively un-awkward moment of silence upon him, Tiberius decided now might be a good time to scan through the Prophet. His morning was interrupted once more, however, this time by a group of Slytherins who seemed woefully out of place. Nott was in the lead, Rosier not far behind, as usual. The lumbering Reynard Lestrange followed along, hands in his pockets. Another, younger boy was with them who Tiberius did not know, but guessed based on the lad's dark hair and smug expression he must be a relative of Alphard's. The little gang came to a stop in the middle of the aisle, just behind Minerva.

"Gentlemen," Tiberius said lightly, "You seem ta be a bit lost. Your table," here he paused to point across the room toward the Slytherin table, "is over there."

"Came to see what all the fuss was about," Rosier scowled. "You Gryffindors starting trouble this early in the morning?"

"He was a Ravenclaw, actually," Minerva countered, turning around in her seat so that she leaned back against the table, arms crossed. "And _he_ wasn't being much trouble at all."

Rosier snorted, muttering something under his breath that had the other boys snickering. Tiberius slowly drew his wand beneath the table, mindful of the sudden attention the Slytherins' appearance had earned. If something happened, he intended to be prepared.

"Trouble or no, we was planning to come by anyway," Nott spoke this time, wearing a wicked grin that Tiberius did not at all like, "Planning to offer you...terms of surrender, as it were."

"You're surrendering? Brilliant then. I accept," Tiberius thumped one fist against the table, smirking as the grin vanished from Nott's face.

"Giving you a chance to surrender to us. Before you embarrass yourselves at the match and all," Rosier explained, Nott being too occupied with fuming to speak. Unsurprisingly, the mention of "match" drew the immediate attention of Charlus Potter, who had been watching the Slytherins since they first approached. In an instant, Charlus was on his feet, dragging Gabriel along behind him.

"And why in Merlin's name would we surrender to you?" Charlus asked, coming to a stop beside Minerva. Alastor chose that moment to reappear as well, sliding rather than outright stopping, and leaning down all in the same motion. Tiberius had a sudden impression of lines being drawn, troops assembling before a battle. The thought was not an especially pleasant one.

"What's all this?" Alastor whispered in Tiberius' ear, voice difficult to hear over Charlus and Nott's raised voices. Tiberius was not entirely surprised to see that Alastor's wand was already drawn. Merlin, but the day's classes had yet to start and everyone was already looking for a fight.

"Slytherins seem ta be showing off fer some reason. Wanted us ta surrender," Tiberius answered quietly.

"Not bloody likely," Alastor muttered, straightening back up and hiding his wand in his pocket. Tiberius nodded but remained in his seat, one arm on the table and watching as Charlus and Nott continued their argument.

"They made you captain?" Charlus asked. Tiberius himself could not help but be slightly astounded that Richard Nott had been given an authority position of any sort. A second year would have made a better captain.

"And I've brought some changes to the team," Nott either did not realize Charlus' question was an insult or had chosen to ignore the bait. Given Nott's usual temperament and general level of intellect, Tiberius suspected the former. Lestrange was shoved forward a bit, prodded along by Rosier.

"Got ourselves a new Beater, for one," Nott gestured at Lestrange with an odd degree of pride.

"Merlin, you sure he knows how to stay on a broom?" Alastor laughed, voicing the opinion of virtually every Gryffindor in the area, Tiberius included. For all his intimidating size, Rey Lestrange was well known to be a bit dense. Well, more than a bit, really, and Tiberius rarely saw any need to be polite about the issue. The Slytherins had apparently not noticed Alastor's presence until he spoke, and none looked too pleased to see him. Unsurprisingly, Lestrange in particular seemed to have taken some offense.

"Watch your mouth, Moody," Lestrange muttered, cracking his knuckles. If anything, this only encouraged Alastor, much to Tiberius great concern. The fact that an entire table lay between the Slytherins and Alastor was something akin to a rare blessing.

"I speak only the truth," Alastor shrugged, grinning dangerously now. Lestrange lunged forward, stopped only by the combined efforts of Nott, Rosier, and the younger boy.

"I'll toss you off your broom myself!" Lestrange snapped. Tiberius, then, was required to keep Alastor from doing anything too mental, such as crossing the table. He threw one arm out in front of Alastor, holding tight to the back of his robes with the other.

"Not if I toss you first!" Alastor shouted back, thankfully ceasing his struggles after a moment or two.

"Before we can manage to start a fight here," Gabriel interrupted, stepping out from behind Charlus. "I think you'd better go on to your own table."

Nott rolled his eyes, still busily restraining Lestrange. The younger boy spoke up though, hands in his pockets.

"Scared of us already are you?" the boy asked, smug expression same as before. Definitely a Black, Tiberius decided.

"Who exactly are you?" Minerva asked politely. She had been so quiet during the whole confrontation that Tiberius had nearly forgotten she was there. That was the danger with Minerva though - she would let you slip into a false sense of security, then catch you unawares. Tiberius never appreciated the trick being used on him, but he did find the use of the same tactic on others highly amusing. Black did a sort of double-take, as though he was not entirely sure Minerva had been talking to him.

"Cygnus Black," the boy declared, seeming quite offended that Minerva had not known his name, "Of the ancient-"

Gabriel sighed and reached out, grabbing Cygnus by the shoulders and spinning the boy so that he faced the opposite direction.

"Ancient and most noble House of Black. Yes, we know. Now go on."

"Don't touch me, mudblood!" Cygnus jerked away from Gabriel, face furious. Tiberius sat unmoving for a moment, too astounded to do much of anything else. Surely, the boy had not thrown about _that_ word in the middle of an enemy crowd. The Gryffindors fell silent, but only for a split second, the tension suddenly so thick in the air that Tiberius could almost feel the weight, the buzz and snap of barely restrained magic. Gabriel stood in place, gaping, arms still halfway outstretched. The second passed, and Tiberius was on his feet, along with all the other nearby Gryffindors. He and Alastor both had their wands fixed on Rosier and Nott, Minerva and Charlus aiming at Cygnus himself. While the older Slytherins seemed to realize the grave error, all of them staying very still and very quiet, Cygnus apparently did not. The boy still stood with his arms crossed as he glowered at Gabriel.

"Think ye ought ta take that back," Tiberius suggested quietly. He wondered if the teachers would arrive before or after hexes started flying. For his part, Tiberius had no intention of stopping Alastor this time if he tried again to cross the table. Merlin, at this rate, Tiberius might honestly follow right behind him.

"I-" whatever Cygnus had been about to say certainly did not have the makings of an apology, not based on his expression. Still, the response was interrupted by the appearance of Tom Riddle, who seemed to have pushed his way through the crowd.

"What's all this then?" Riddle asked coolly, polished as ever and prefect's badge gleaming on the front of his robes. Tiberius continued to mourn the fact that someone had seen fit to make Riddle a prefect.

"You ought to tell your friends to watch what they say," Alastor growled. "Especially when they're surrounded."

"I'm sure Mr. Black didn't mean any harm," Riddle said, wand drawn in an easy rapid motion and held down at his side. "Did you?"

Cygnus shook his head, having apparently learned his lesson about speaking, at least on this occasion.

"Five points from Slytherin, for using offensive language directed at another student," Minerva declared matter of factly. Riddle shifted his gaze to Minerva, and Alastor and Tiberius both halfway started forward.

"And five from Gryffindor," Riddle arched an eyebrow, though Tiberius was sure the look was directed more at Alastor and himself than at Minerva, "for threatening fellow students."

Minerva seethed in place, wand levelled at Riddle's chest. Knowing how much trouble would follow, fairly sure that one hex would start an outright battle, Tiberius still found himself hoping that Minerva would jinx the cocky prat. She hesitated though, casting a glance toward the front table where a number of teachers were indeed watching the proceedings with concern. Riddle took the opportunity to seize Cygnus by the shoulder and motion for the other three Slytherins to get moving as well. The crowd, which now comprised of a few Ravenclaws as well, parted rather reluctantly, glaring menacingly at the passing Slytherins.

"Oi!" Charlus shouted, "Aren't you going to apologize, you git?"

Cygnus stiffened, glaring back over his shoulder red-faced. Riddle stopped him though, pushing the younger boy on ahead before turning to answer.

"Whatever for?"

Charlus shouted something entirely unintelligible, and Riddle merely smirked. The Gryffindors were all still standing, the tension of the moment not quite faded. Gabriel, still frozen in place, Charlus furious beside him. Minerva, wand stiffly at her side now, glowering at Riddle overtop of her glasses and looking as though she, too, wished she had hexed him. Alastor's face had yet to fade back from crimson, his wand still leveled and ready. Tiberius kept his own wand arm steady, wishing for a chance, a reason to hex the smirk off Tom Riddle's face. No chance came though, and the Gryffindors were forced to watch Riddle walk away, smirk dark and dangerous on his pale face, black robes swirling behind him.


	9. All Hallows Eve

A/N - This chapter would have been posted sooner were it not for the utterly abysmal internet we have on campus. Sorry bout that. So, let's rejoin our heroes. By this point in the story, we've reached late October. Almost Halloween, to be exact...

* * *

In Minerva's opinion, Herbology hardly seemed like the proper time to be discussing parties. Not that she minded parties, on the whole. She merely felt that when wrestling with an irritable Snargaluff plant, one ought to be paying a fair amount of attention. Augusta, on the other hand, seemed inclined to disagree.

"You really ought to come," Augusta was saying, one gloved hand clutched around a vine that had been aiming for her face. "Alphard said to be sure and invite you."

"We do have a feast, you know," Minerva said, ducking around another vine and grabbing one of the green pods before the plant could react. The Snargaluff slumped and immediately gave up fighting.

"But Alphard thinks we ought to have a costume party," Augusta slid a bowl across the table, where Minerva gladly deposited the pulsating green pod. "How do we open it?"

"It should be in the book," Minerva glanced down the table to where Tiberius and Geoffery were battling their own Snargaluff. The boys seemed to be having considerably worse luck with the plant, if the gash on Geoffery's cheek was any indication. "Why a costume party?"

"Someone seems to have let slip that it's a very Muggle thing to do," Augusta rolled her eyes, an expression Minerva mirrored. As much as she appreciated Alphard's efforts to harass his family, sometimes he went a bit overboard in his determination. This was one such occasion.

"Once again, may I point out that we have a Halloween feast?" Minerva said, frowning at the green pod and pushing the bowl toward Augusta.

"He wants to do it after the feast," Augusta answered, prodding at the pod with a trowel as though the thing might decide to explode at any moment. Tiberius shouted in triumph, lifting a pod out of reach of the still-struggling Snargaluff plant. Of course, his excitement vanished as soon as he took a proper look at his prize, hastily dropping the pod and wiping his hands on the front of his robes. The pod bounced off the table and would have hit Geoffery had he not ducked in time.

"And where precisely does he plan to have his party?" Minerva asked, returning her attention to her own work. "We can't exactly meet in the Slytherin common room."

"No," Augusta agreed, then, dropping her voice to a whisper, "There's a staff room, up on the fourth floor."

"Which I suspect is locked," Minerva arched an eyebrow.

"Alphard seems to have nicked the keys, actually," Augusta said. Minerva considered being impressed by this fact, making a neat catch as the bowl came sliding back across the table.

"So we'll be out past curfew, in a room that's likely off-limits. Lovely," Minerva said dryly, striking the pod with her own trowel. The bowl rocked violently, but the pod remained whole.

"And don't forget, we'll have costumes," Augusta said matter of factly. "It's all very exciting."

"I suppose so," Minerva allowed, determined not to agree to this party business until she knew more. Even if the idea of a costume party was in fact quite exciting. "Who exactly has Alphard invited?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Augusta shrugged. "I was just told to be sure and invite you, in case Alphard didn't get the chance."

"Oh," Minerva said, "Well...do you think that..."

"Yes, he is," Augusta said matter of factly, not even allowing Minerva to finish. Minerva considered pretending to have no idea what precisely was meant by that statement. She did not at all like the thought that she had become so predictable.

"Maybe I was going to ask if there would be food," Minerva glared at Augusta, missing the bowl entirely as she stabbed the trowel into the table.

"Maybe," Augusta allowed, "But you weren't. You were asking if Alastor was going to be there, and we both know it."

Minerva merely scowled, not willing to agree to this and prove Augusta right once again. Instead she focused her attention on removing the trowel from the table.

"If you don't know who all is coming, how do you know he'll be there?"

"Because I heard Tiberius talking to him in the common room," Augusta said. "He told him that if he wanted to come, he didn't need to bring Bell along."

"And Alastor agreed to this?" Minerva asked, a bit surprised at the idea. If nothing else, surely Bell would protest the arrangement.

"I think so," Augusta said, wincing as Geoffery missed the pod and instead struck and shattered the bowl. "You have to speak to him eventually you know."

"No," Minerva finally managed to free the trowel, "I do not. Nor do I intend to."

"Did you not spend weeks hexing him, usually with my assistance?" Augusta asked wearily.

"Well...yes," Minerva said. She had quite enjoyed hexing Alastor too, at least until a fifth year Gryffindor girl had taken the whole thing a bit too far. The nosebleed hex had been quite nasty, and Minerva had been surprised to discover that even though she considered herself at war with Alastor, she had been horrified by what the girl had done. The hexing had been significantly less fun after that, possibly because Alastor never even attempted to fight back, but more probably because Minerva no longer felt the same vengeful thrill. As the weeks passed, staying angry had grown increasingly difficult, and now there was only really a hurt feeling, an odd tightness in her chest each time she saw Alastor with Bell.

"And that was all well and good, because he was a git about the whole thing, and he deserved it," Augusta declared. "But only to a certain point."

"What?" Minerva had not been expecting the latter part of that sentence, and decided to abandon the pod before she managed to inadvertently stab her own hand.

"You told him you wanted to be friends," Augusta said gently, "so you can't really be upset when he moves on."

Minerva scowled, poking at the table with the trowel a bit viciously now. She hated when Augusta was right.

"Haven't we already talked about this?"

"Several times, I think," Augusta agreed. "And yet it still doesn't seem to be getting through."

Minerva's retort was cut off by the arrival of Professor Beery, who took one look at the still-whole pod before sighing.

"Less talking, more working, ladies. The instructions are still in the book."

The girls mumbled an apology, and Augusta bent down to retrieve her Herbology book as Beery moved on down the table to lecture Geoffery and Tiberius about the proper use of a trowel concerning Snargaluff pods.

"What if, hypothetically speaking, I thought I had made the wrong decision?" Minerva whispered as soon as Beery was busy repairing Geoffery's bowl.

"Then I think, hypothetically, you might want to get around to fixing that," Augusta arched an eyebrow, never taking her eyes off the book. "Says to hit it with something sharp."

"Which is exactly what I've been doing," Minerva grumbled, passing the trowel and the bowl to Augusta. "And besides, he's got Bell now."

"Minerva, really," Augusta said, "I swear, you two are the only ones who haven't realized..."

"Realized what?" Minerva asked sharply. She did not at all like the idea that she was being left out of some great secret. Augusta considered answering for a moment, then shook her head and stabbed at the pod.

"Never mind. The point is, there's really no competition between you and Bell."

"Thank you. But as my friend, I think you're obligated to say that," Minerva said dryly.

"No, as your friend, I am entitled to be honest," Augusta corrected. "There's a difference."

Minerva supposed that was fair enough, and given previous conversations with Augusta, quite true indeed.

"Alright, so in your honest opinion, what do I do?"

"You go to the party," Augusta said with a grin. "You were a fantastic costume, and you make sure Alastor notices you."

Minerva considered herself officially persuaded.

* * *

Sneaking away after the feast proved to be a relatively simple feat. Few students seemed to have any plan of returning to the dormitories this early in the evening, which made for excellent cover. Someone had bewitched a few suits of armor to walk about the castle, singing and telling jokes and mostly just jumping out and scaring people. Minerva would have thought a professor had been responsible, were it not for the very off-color jokes the suits of armor happened to be telling.

The fourth floor corridor, however, proved to be rather empty. A lone suit of armor guarded the stairs but made no movement, even when Minerva waved her hand in front of the helmet.

"You sure this is the right place?" Minerva asked, casting one wary glance back toward the armor.

"Of course," Augusta said, gesturing to one of the doors further down the hall. Minerva saw nothing particularly special about this door as opposed to all the others, but followed Augusta nonetheless. As they neared the staff room, Minerva retrieved her wand and vanished her robes, revealing the costume that had been hidden beneath. Augusta had been the one to suggest they were their costumes to the feast, beneath their robes of course, so as not to have to return to the dormitory to change. The costumes had been a sort of grand secret, a way of adding some excitement to the evening. Minerva had in all honesty been excited for Alphard's party ever since she had finished her costume – the secrecy somehow made everything even better.

"Do you suppose we look alright?" Augusta asked, tugging at one of her sleeves. She was dressed as a harem girl from the _Arabian Nights_ stories, although Minerva felt rather confident that there were in actuality very few blond girls in Arabia.

"There's a mirror this way I think," Minerva said, pointing down the hall and smoothing her own dress with the opposite hand.

Both girls made their way in the direction of the mirror, Augusta lighting her wand so that they could properly see. Minerva spun twice in front of the mirror, making sure all of her charms had stayed in place. She had used a Muggle dress as the base of her costume and added a few improvements magically, with Augusta's help of course. Augusta finished charming her hair into place and conjured a sequined veil.

"Well?"

"You look marvelous," Minerva said, "What about me?"

"Here," Augusta swatted Minerva's wand away from her hair, waving her own wand in a complicated looking pattern. The charm worked though, as Minerva's disagreeable curls suddenly pulled up into an elegant twist.

"You're getting rather good at this," Minerva said, tugging a curl or two loose when Augusta was not looking. "Perhaps you could make a career of it."

"Oh yes," Augusta rolled her eyes, "Because that's what I'd like to do for the rest of my life. Charm witches' hair. It'll be fabulously dull. Are you finished?"

"Almost," Minerva said, transfiguring a napkin she had nicked from dinner into a black and silver mask. Mindful of her glasses, she set the mask in place, spinning once more in front of the mirror. The sparkles on the dress and mask caught the wand light, shimmering in the looking glass. Minerva smiled, quite pleased with the costume. "How's this?"

"Amazing," Augusta assured her, already walking back towards the staff room door. Minerva checked her mask one more before following.

"Do you suppose it will-"

"Yes," Augusta cut her off once again, much to Minerva's irritation. "Oh, yes, I'd certainly say so."

The girls grinned wickedly, dissolving into laughter as Augusta knocked on the door. No immediate response came, but just before Augusta could knock again the door opened just a crack.

"What spirits are you, out roaming this hallowed night?" Alphard asked, voice as deep as he could manage. Minerva rolled her eyes and reached out to push the door open further.

"It's Minerva and Augusta."

"Merlin, but I wouldn't have known it," Alphard swung the door wide, beaming. He was wearing some sort of collared cloak, his hair slicked back and face shockingly pale. If Minerva was not mistaken, he was also either wearing fangs or had charmed his teeth into points. Knowing Alphard, probably the latter. "You ladies look lovely."

"And you look...interesting?" Augusta chanced, stepping past Alphard and into the staff room.

"I'm a vampire!" Alphard insisted, hiding half his face behind his elbow and glowering menacingly.

"Not like any vampire I've ever seen," Minerva said, following Augusta inside.

The staff room was not exceptionally large, but the space was cozy and comfortable. Candles flickered on the walls, casting the room into wavering shadow. Several pumpkins rested around the room, a few of them bearing carved faces that smiled and winked every few seconds. A number of bats fluttered around the ceiling, though whether they were real or charmed, Minerva was unsure. The chairs had been pushed against the walls, all of them transfigured into comfortable arm chairs. The fireplace was lit, flames crackling and keeping at bay the cold October night. Minerva had never been to a costume party before, but she certainly felt like the room looked perfect for one.

"Like a Muggle vampire," Alphard said. Minerva was not entirely surprised by this explanation.

"When's everyone else getting here?" Augusta sank into an armchair and glanced toward the door.

"Well, Charlus and Gabriel-" Alphard began, interrupted when the door to the staff room swung open. Two knights stood in the doorway, carrying between them a sack Minerva guessed to be full of food. She was proven correct moments later when the sack was emptied on a hastily conjured table, pies and pasties and cookies all pouring out.

"Evening, Minerva," one of the knights said. He pushed up his helmet, revealing the bespectacled face of Charlus Potter. "Great costume. Didn't know we were having a masked ball."

"Why thank you, good sir knight," Minerva curtsied, and Charlus laughed and gave a bow in response.

Augusta was out of her seat now, helping Gabriel sort all the food into some semblance of order. Someone knocked on the door, and this time Amelia Bones entered the room, wearing a colorful scarf on her head and a number of jingling bracelets on her wrists.

"And what might you be?" Gabriel asked, having trouble keeping his helmet open.

"A fortune-teller, of course," Amelia grinned, conjuring a deck of cards with a flick of her wrist. Minerva suspected the cards had been hidden in her sleeve, but with Amelia one could never be sure. Amelia was followed by a green-clad Geoffery Goodchild, wearing a too-big feathered cap. The longbow he carried gave the costume away easily.

"Tis Robin Hood!" Charlus shouted. "Enemy of the crown!"

"I-is this not neutral ground?" Geoffery laughed. "There's f-fair maidens here!"

"Good point," Gabriel allowed, shoving his wooden sword back into its sheath. At least, Minerva hoped the sword was wooden. Especially if those were bottles of firewhiskey Charlus had just retrieved from the bottom of the sack. Alphard had just set about fiddling with a wireless set, trying to find music suitable for the party, when the door opened again to admit Donald Pritchett. Donald was wearing an overcoat and some sort of odd hat, a magnifying glass in one hand and a pipe between his lips.

"Alright then Pritchett, what're you supposed to be?" Amelia asked.

"It's elementary, my dear Amelia," Donald grinned, raising the magnifying glass. Combined with his glasses, this succeeded in making his eyes look even more owlish than usual.

"Oh! Sherlock Holmes!" Minerva guessed, instantly forgiving Donald for his bizarre fascination with Divination in light of his choice of costume.

"Who?" Augusta frowned, tugging the magnifying glass free from Donald's hand. "Is he some sort of Muggle Auror?"

"No, he's a Muggle detective," Alphard said, looking quite pleased with himself for knowing the answer. "The best Muggle detective in the world."

Donald looked to be on the verge of quoting Holmes again when he was interrupted by the door crashing against the wall. Everyone jumped, even the wireless slipping into silence. Tiberius loomed in the doorway, dressed as a musketeer, sweeping off his hat as he bowed extravagantly. Beside him was Alastor, who made for a rather convincing pirate.

"Good evening, everyone," Tiberius said cheerily. "We're not late, are we?"

"Just in time," Alphard answered, finally finding a wireless station that he approved of, turning the music up with a few taps of his wand. Minerva found her way over to the chairs where Augusta and Amelia had taken their seats, determined not to stare at Alastor. Perhaps he did make a handsome pirate, with his coat and hat and messy hair, but Minerva had no intention of letting him realize this. Alastor did notice her though, much to Minerva's great amusement. His gasp and his shocked expression rather spoiled the intimidating pirate effect.

"Care for a drink?" Amelia flicked her wand towards the table, summoning one of the glass bottles.

"Why yes. Yes I do," Minerva said, catching the bottle easily in one hand. She was certainly going to enjoy this night.

* * *

The combined effects of the firewhiskey and the music meant that not much time passed before the dancing began. Smaller conversations still existed on the fringes of the room, mostly between dances and in the vicinity of the food. Charlus and Gabriel looked to be in danger of having to make another trip to the kitchens, but nobody seemed too especially concerned with eating just now. The current song ended, leaving Minerva and Tiberius laughing in the middle of the floor.

"You're rubbish at this!" Minerva said, moving to wipe her eyes before she remembered the mask was still in place.

"I know," Tiberius agreed, faking a mournful expression. He was wearing a fake mustache, which made it exceedingly difficult for Minerva to take him seriously. "I'm too tall fer my own good."

"Apparently so," Minerva reached up to pat Tiberius on the shoulder. Another song began and Tiberius offered his hand, but Minerva shook her head.

"I'm going to sit this one out."

"Trying ta protect your feet?" Tiberius laughed.

"You'll never know," Minerva said with a wink. Tiberius laughed again and turned about to steal Amelia away from Donald. Donald, however, did not seem willing to let his dance partner go without a fight. Minerva stepped out of the way of the dancers, watching the growing scene, and backed into something solid.

"Sorry, I-" she cut her apology short as she realized she had backed into Alastor, who was now watching her with an odd expression. "Sorry."

"'S alright," Alastor shrugged.

Awkward silence descended, and Minerva shifted in place, keeping her eyes on anything but the boy beside her. Across the room, Augusta, who was dancing with Alphard, kept mouthing "talk" with a very cross expression. Before anyone else could catch on to what Augusta was doing, Minerva sighed and turned determinedly towards Alastor.

"Your costume looks nice."

He nearly dropped his drink in surprise, and did succeed in choking a bit.

"T-thanks. Yours...you look...really great," Alastor managed, face growing redder as he spoke. He murmured something else too quietly for Minerva to hear, words lost beneath the music. In an effort to prevent another awkward silence, Minerva reached up and tugged gently on the earring that hung from his left ear. She had expected the object to be charmed on, but she had not expected Alastor to wince visibly.

"Don't ah...don't pull on that."

"You seem to have put a very strong sticking charm on it," Minerva noted dryly. "At least you didn't actually..." she trailed off, realizing with Alastor's sheepish expression that he had actually done precisely that. "Oh, Merlin, Alastor. Why?"

"Well," Alastor took another drink, considering the question, "It didn't look very realistic charmed on. And Tiberius is pretty sure he can heal it later."

Minerva sighed, head falling into her hands. She had thought Tiberius at least had better sense than that.

"I don't suppose you actually put your eye out too?" she asked, gesturing at the eyepatch that covered his right eye.

"Hmm? Oh, no," Alastor grinned, lifting the eyepatch to reveal that no damage had been done. "No worries."

"What I'd like to know," Donald stepped into place beside Alastor, glaring sullenly in the direction of Tiberius and Amelia every few seconds. "Is why you haven't got a peg leg."

"Well for one, I couldn't figure out a way to do it, seeing as I have a leg there and all," Alastor bent down and rapped his knuckles against one knee. "And everything I did try, I couldn't really walk on."

"What happened to that impeccable balance of yours?" Donald arched an eyebrow, taking a draw from his pipe. Minerva had not been under the impression Donald actually smoked, and thus was inclined to believe the pipe was largely for show.

"Doesn't count when I've only got one leg to stand on," Alastor muttered, crossing his arms. Donald allowed for this answer, and the three of them fell silent once again. The music changed, and Minerva found herself tugging on Alastor's sleeve. Admittedly, this was against her better judgment, but she planned to blame the firewhiskey if nothing else.

"Would you ah...do you want to dance?"

"What? I...oh..." Alastor's startled expression was faintly comical, or would have been, if Minerva had not been quite sure that a refusal waited at the end of whatever sentence he managed. Immediately angry with herself for even asking, she reached across Alastor and grabbed Donald by the wrist.

"Come on Don, I'll dance with you."

Donald seemed quite surprised by this, but did at least stumble along. Minerva chanced one glance back over her shoulder at Alastor. He had taken a step forward, and Minerva half-hoped that he was going to come after her and tell Donald to go find Amelia. Instead, his shoulders slumped and he remained where he was, casting a sorrowful look in her direction. Minerva pointedly ignored him, and pointedly ignored the butterflies that had chosen to return.

* * *

Before too much longer, a run for food was indeed required. Mostly because the food itself had begun to run low, but more so because the drinks had begun to run low as well. Alphard, as the host, felt that he ought not to leave his guests, and Charlus felt that since he and Gabriel had made the last trip, someone else ought to go for this one. Somehow the girls had been entirely exempted from this task, not that Minerva especially minded. She sat between Amelia and Augusta, watching as the boys argued.

"All I'm saying is we already went," Charlus insisted for the third time. Minerva suspected he had had more than his share of the firewhiskey. "So we've had our turn."

"The elves like you though," Alastor said. "They'll give you better...food."

"Ye ken just say it," Tiberius rolled his eyes, "We all know this is purely a quest fer firewhiskey."

"You know, we could probably get to the kitchens and back before they even noticed," Amelia whispered.

"True. But then we'd miss all the fun," Minerva said. Sure enough, Alastor had unsurprisingly said something to offend Charlus, who had drawn his sword.

"I'll not take a challenge to my honor," Charlus said. "Sir Gabriel, are you with me?"

"Of course," Gabriel drew his sword now, and by this point a grinning Alastor had retrieved a cutlass that had been hidden beneath his coat. Tiberius, too, held a rapier in one hand, shifting into a dueling stance.

"I feel as though I am exempt from this fight, on the grounds of not having any weapons," Donald said hurriedly, stepping out of the way as Gabriel swung wide, missing Alastor completely.

"I second this idea," Alphard agreed, sidestepping around Alastor, who had lunged forward with his cutlass outstretched.

"I'm out as w-well," Geoffery raised both hands, one of them holding his bow.

"You've got a weapon!" Alphard pointed out incredulously.

"And what good's a b-bow going to d-do against swords?" Geoffery asked. Alphard considered this for a moment.

"Good point."

The three non-combatants cleared the field quickly, just before the actual fight began. There was no real form or rule to the proceedings, though Tiberius did look as though he had some idea of what he was doing. Mostly the boys just blocked and swung, aiming to strike each other was hard and often as possible. Minerva wished someone had thought to bring a camera, as she doubted one often saw two knights dueling a pirate and a musketeer. Gabriel and Charlus had the advantage of wearing armor, but that advantage seemed to be thin at best. Tiberius easily stepped up onto one of the armchairs, Charlus climbing onto another, and the pair fought from these positions until Tiberius cracked Charlus across the knuckles with his sword. Charlus dropped his weapon almost immediately, and Tiberius had already kicked the sword away before Charlus had a chance to retrieve it.

"Think I win," Tiberius grinned, reaching out and pulling Charlus off the chair. Charlus angled the fall so that he fell onto Tiberius, bringing the both of them to the floor with a loud thud. All pretense of using swords utterly vanished as the two wrestled beside the chairs. Gabriel, meanwhile, found himself on the defensive. Alastor had always been a natural dueler, and apparently that same skill translated into sword fighting. Minerva was not quite sure how precisely this worked, but she found herself unable to look away. This was clearly only because the fight was very entertaining, and not at all because Alastor was grinning, and had lost his hat, and looked very dashing. No, nothing at all to do with those things.

Gabriel staggered and lost his footing, nearly falling. Alastor used the moment to retrieve his wand from his coat pocket.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

Gabriel's sword flew out of his hand and into Alastor's, and Gabriel himself finally toppled over onto the ground.

"I...you...that's cheating!" Gabriel insisted, shocked by this sudden turn of events.

"Need I remind you," Alastor put one foot on Gabriel's stomach, "That I am dressed as a pirate?"

Gabriel laughed at this, taking Alastor's hand and letting himself be hauled back to his feet. Alastor handed Gabriel his sword, then strode across the room and easily pulled Charlus off of Tiberius.

"Oi! I was winning!" Tiberius looked mildly affronted at having his fight interrupted.

"Course you were," Alastor rolled his eyes, "It's all settled anyway. Gabriel's going to go."

"I am?" Gabriel paused, having been in the middle of dusting off his costume.

"Those were the conditions," Alphard agreed, opening the door and motioning for Gabriel to get moving. Minerva had a feeling Alphard really did not much care who went, so long as more firewhiskey found its way to the party.

"What conditions?" Geoffery asked, wincing as Donald elbowed him the ribs and shook his head. With no further argument, only a good-natured smile, Gabriel retrieved the bag that had brought the first load of food.

"I'll be back in a moment then."

"And to think," Augusta stood up again as soon as the door was closed, "You wanted to leave."

"I didn't realize they'd have an actual sword fight," Amelia protested.

"They're boys," Minerva said with a sigh, "You almost have to expect things like that."

"Especially with Alastor and his temper," Augusta sent a sideways smirk in Minerva's direction, which Minerva pretended not to see.

"How's that going anyway?" Amelia asked, dropping her voice so that she was a bit difficult to hear over the music.

"Going fine," Minerva said shortly. "Just fine."

Amelia glanced to Augusta, who hurriedly shook her head, and the matter was effectively dropped. Alphard turned the music up louder, snagging Minerva's arm and leading her out to dance.

"Aren't you supposed to ask first?" Minerva asked dryly.

"Were you really going to refuse?" Alphard countered, grinning and showing his fangs once again.

Minerva danced a song or two with Alphard the Muggle vampire, then took a few turns with Robin Hood and Sherlock Holmes. After the last time, she avoided the lanky musketeer, and Sir Charlus was having a bit of trouble staying on his own feet, much less able to guide someone else's. Thus Minerva found herself standing beside a certain dashing pirate captain who had once more donned his hat.

"Surprised you're here without Bell," Minerva said without really thinking. The firewhiskey was going to be blamed for quite a lot tonight, she could already tell.

"Just full of surprises, aren't I?" Alastor snorted.

"Good and bad," Minerva muttered. She had meant to keep the response as quiet as possible, but Alastor still seemed to have heard, eyes narrowing.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Minerva considered ignoring him and walking away. She considered pretending she had not heard his question, and that she did not care that she seemed to have offended him. He certainly had not seemed to care that he had upset her. And with that thought, a month's worth of anger and hurt simmered to the surface, a sudden cold fury.

"Exactly what you think," Minerva said. "You could've told me you and Bell were...were...you know."

"Oh yes, and you'd have taken it so well," Alastor rolled his eyes.

"I would have!" Minerva insisted, resisting an urge to slap his shoulder.

"Probably would've only hexed me once or twice between classes," Alastor went on as though she had not spoken. "Saved me a few trips to the Hospital Wing..."

"You rather earned it," Minerva said coldly. "Though I am sorry about that nosebleed hex."

"Sorry it didn't kill me?" Alastor's voice was dangerously low, and Minerva guessed that he was probably scowling either at her or some inanimate object.

"Why don't we step outside and finish this conversation?" Minerva suggested. If she was going to have a shouting match with Alastor, she would rather it take place at least out of sight of her other friends. Alastor nodded curtly, motioning for her to go on ahead.

"Leaving so soon?" Alphard frowned, "I'm sure Gabriel will be back any minute."

"We'll be right back," Minerva forced a smile.

"Just going to have a quick chat," Alastor said, holding the door open for Minerva. He slammed the door shut though, the noise echoing in the silent corridors. Minerva quickly lit her wand, banishing the darkness back. She took a few steps away from the door, just in case anyone stopped to listen, and could hear Alastor following close behind. When she deemed herself at a safe distance, she vanished her mask, rounding on Alastor in the same smooth motion.

"For your information, I was horribly upset when I found out someone had done that. I don't want you dead," Minerva snapped.

"That's touching. I appreciate you not wanting me dead," Alastor nodded solemnly, and this time Minerva really did hit him. "What was that for?"

"For being insufferable! Merlin, I don't know how Bell can stand you!" Minerva shouted, fists clenched.

"That's the whole trouble isn't it? Bell and I?" Alastor's face had gone alarmingly red, even more menacing with all his pirate wear.

"Of course it is! She's...she's..." Minerva wanted to say _not right for you_ but could not bring herself to do so.

"Told her to be nice to you, you know," Alastor said gruffly.

"And when you have to tell someone to be nice, then you know they really mean it," Minerva retorted, rolling her eyes. "Oh yes, that's perfect."

"I tried, didn't I?" Alastor countered.

Minerva had no interest in responding to that question, because yes, perhaps he had tried, but she would in no way dignify any of his efforts. They should not have been necessary in the first place.

"Why did you even come tonight?" Minerva demanded, "Why not spend the evening with Bell? Since I'm sure she's going to Hogsmeade with you tomorrow as well."

"I ENDED IT WITH BELL!" Alastor bellowed. His words all but echoed against the walls, and Minerva stood in stunned silence, not quite able to process that statement. Alastor was taking deep breaths now, trying to calm himself down.

"I ended it with Bell. Days ago. And you'd have known if you bothered to ask," Alastor said coldly.

"Why?" was all Minerva could manage.

"Does it really matter?" Alastor asked wearily. "Have I really got to explain it?"

"No, you haven't got to," Minerva turned to leave, no longer in the mood to return to the party. She only managed a few steps though before Alastor caught hold of her arm.

"Bell's a lovely girl, but she's...she's not you," Alastor said, words soft and face fierce. Minerva felt her heart skip a beat or three and the butterflies in her stomach whirl. She had known for months now that she had made the wrong decision, that she did not want to be just friends with Alastor Moody. But she had never expected that the situation would fix itself in precisely this way. Not that she was at all complaining. She took another half-step backward, foot catching on something solid. Had Alastor not still been holding onto her arm, she would have fallen entirely.

"Careful," Alastor rumbled, glancing over her shoulder to see what had tripped her up.

"Probably just a suit of armor," Minerva said, "They were wandering about earlier."

"No, it isn't," Alastor said slowly. "Oh, bloody hell."

Frowning now, Minerva turned on her heels, wand aimed at the floor. She almost immediately latched on to Alastor's hand, a sudden horrified feeling creeping over her, chilling her to the bone. On the floor lay Gabriel Valentine, utterly unmoving, eyes still wide with surprise.


	10. The Writing on the Wall

A/N - Today my thought process went something like this: "I probably ought to do that literature assignment. But I'd really like to finish the next chapter...That assignment's due Monday...But the chapter's nearly finished anyway..." For the record, writing won lol. I'll do the literature homework tomorrow. *shrugs* That's what the weekend's for. Besides, I think it was for a good cause ;)

* * *

For the briefest instant time seemed to stop entirely, air and light hanging suspended and frozen in the moment. No one moved, no one so much as breathed, all attention fixed on Gabriel, his face pale and washed out in the wand light, an angel lying fallen in the shadows. One arm had been raised as though he were trying to shield himself from his attacker. Clearly, the effort had been in vain. Minerva shut her eyes, hoping that perhaps she was merely seeing things. A trick of the light, or else some prank of Alphard's meant to scare them all. But she opened her eyes again, and the scene remained unchanged, vivid as before. If this was indeed one of Alphard's jokes, she failed to see any sort of humor.

Alastor was the first to move, gently sliding his hand free and tugging his wand from his back pocket.

"What's wrong with him?" Minerva whispered. A thousand questions raced through her mind, but someone she only managed to voice that particular one.

"Dunno..." Alastor knelt down beside Gabriel, snapping his fingers in front of the boy's face once or twice. When that failed to achieve any sort of result, Alastor attempted to straighten out Gabriel's arm, which refused to move at all. "Must be a Body-bind Curse."

"_Finite,_" Minerva pointed her wand at Gabriel. The spell was meant to reverse whatever magic had frozen Gabriel in place, but nothing changed. Gabriel showed no hint of movement, even after Minerva tried the counter spell twice more. Panic flared through her now, and Alastor frowned, trying another _Finite _for good measure.

"Merlin, Alastor, you don't think he's...he's..." Minerva could not bring herself to say the word, could not bring herself to suggest that Gabriel might be something beyond stunned. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind, angrily shoving away the possibility that such a thing could happen. Not at Hogwarts. Not to them.

"It's not the Death Curse," Alastor murmured, more to himself than to Minerva. "He wouldn't be all stiff like this."

A look passed between Minerva and Alastor as both acknowledged the unspoken fact that plenty of other spells existed that could certainly kill someone. Neither seemed willing to speak the words aloud. Shadows hung close around them in the corridor, kept at bay by the wand light, and Minerva found herself glancing over her shoulder every few seconds, fighting the horrible feeling that she was being watched. A door creaked open and Minerva spun easily, wand at the ready, but Alastor had already moved from his place beside Gabriel to dash in front of her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Helping," Alastor said simply, not even turning around.

"I had a perfectly clear shot!" Minerva whispered fiercely. Eventually Alastor would have to learn that she could take care of herself without his help. His chivalry was beginning to be a bit frustrating.

Fortunately, no hexing seemed to have been required as wand light wavered to life and revealed Tiberius the musketeer.

"Tha shouting stopped. Figured I ought ta come make sure one of ye hadnae killed tha other...What in Merlin's name did ye do?" Tiberius halted his approach, eyes widening as he caught sight of Gabriel.

"We didn't do anything," Alastor muttered, still frowning. "Found him this way."

"You're just goin' ta leave him jinxed?" Tiberius asked.

"We've already tried to undo the spell," Minerva said with a sigh, "It won't work."

"Merlin," Tiberius breathed, running his free hand through his hair. "Who would do something like that?"

"Somebody knows we're up here," Alastor voiced the grim realization that Minerva had reached quite some time ago. Alphard's secret party had not been so secret after all.

"What's all the fuss out here?" Amelia had followed Tiberius to the door, grinning and clearly expecting to find some sort of interesting row. Tiberius and Alastor moved to block her view of Gabriel, waving for her to go back inside, but they were not quite quick enough. Amelia's smile faltered abruptly as she screamed in surprise, nearly dropping her wand. Minerva rushed over, clasping one hand over her mouth, because Merlin if someone really was lurking about they would certainly have heard that. Still, the scream brought the rest of the costumed party-goers rushing out into the hallway, wands lit.

Who precisely noticed Gabriel first was difficult to determine, as everyone immediately began speaking in hurried, furious, whispers that filled the corridor.

"Merlin's pants!" Charlus gasped, starting towards Gabriel and losing his footing, instead dropping to a seat against the nearest wall.

"This your idea of a j-joke, Alphard?" Geoffery rounded on the party's host. For the briefest moment, Alphard's ever-present composure slipped into shock as he looked from Gabriel to Geoffery and back. Minerva could tell even before he spoke that Alphard had no idea what had happened.

"If it's anyone's idea of a joke, it's certainly in bad taste," Alphard said, shock fading now. "Gone and spoiled the evening at any rate."

"Explains what was taking him so long to get back," Augusta said quietly.

"Never made it to the kitchens," Alastor shook his head, gesturing at the floor with his wand, "He'd have dropped everything, and it'd be all over the floor."

"Unless someone took it," Augusta countered. Alastor considered this possibility for a moment, but Minerva could tell by his cross look that he disagreed and did not like the suggestion that he might possibly be wrong. Fortunately, Tiberius spoke up before any sort of argument could actually be started.

"Hang on," Tiberius squeezed past Alastor and Minerva. He halted in front of the long mirror where hours before, Minerva and Augusta had checked their dresses, sparkling in the shadows. The memory might as well have been months old though, ages away from the shock and horror of what had happened in the corridor this night. Tiberius frowned at his reflection, joined after a moment by Alastor's own.

"There's something written here," Tiberius was saying. What had been faint, smeared lines of red against the glass now formed into words, now that Minerva really began to look. But the words were not quite right somehow. Everything seemed shuffled out of order, backwards perhaps. Backwards. A reflection in the mirror.

"It's not on the mirror," Donald stood facing the opposite direction, one hand in his pocket and wand raised in the other. "It's on the wall."

Minerva crossed the corridor to stand beside Donald, fighting not to shudder as she read the grim message painted on the stones. The letters were careless and uneven, as though drawn by a child using finger paints, yet still perfectly readable.

"_The Chamber of Secrets is open. Enemies of the heir...beware."_

The corridor fell into stiff silence once again, the only sound Minerva's own racing heartbeat as she read the message twice more. The quiet was suffocating, thick and heavy and adding to the darkness that hovered at the edges of the light. Minerva half expected, half-hoped, that Gabriel would reach out and grab someone's ankle, that this was all an elaborate joke. If Charlus were not propped against the doorway at present, she would certainly have interrogated him. Between the firewhiskey and the shock of seeing Gabriel, Charlus certainly did not seem like the sort of fellow who had a grand trick up his sleeve.

"Could this have b-been the bad news you w-were worried about, Don?" Geoffery asked. Donald consider the possibility for only a brief moment before shaking his head hurriedly.

"No. This isn't news. It's a warning."

"What's tha difference?" Tiberius sounded incredulous at this explanation, attention never leaving the writing on the wall.

"There's a difference," was all Donald said, not allowing room for any further argument or explanation.

"What's this Chamber of Secrets rubbish about then?" Minerva asked exasperatedly

"Someone's having us on," Donald said flatly. "This is some awful sort of joke."

"I don't think it's a joke, Don," Amelia glanced back toward Gabriel again. "What does it mean?"

But Donald would say no more on the subject, mouth shut in a firm line as he shook his head.

"Some stupid old legend," Alphard spoke up, to everyone's great surprise. "Which I will very gladly tell everyone about later."

"Later?" Alastor arched an eyebrow. "Now seems like a good time."

"While the setting may seem quite appropriate," Alphard said, "Dear Ms. Bones' scream will likely have drawn attention, and it's best we leave before any sort of discipline can occur."

Minerva's stomach plummeted at the prospect of being caught. She had never given much thought to the actual risks of attending the party, merely assumed that she and Augusta would be able to sneak back to Gryffindor Tower safely and quietly. They would also be able to sneak safely into bed, convince their dormitory mates that they had been there all along, and thus maintain the secret until after graduation at least. Then again, finding Gabriel frozen in the middle of the corridor had not at all occurred to either Minerva or her plan.

"Augusta, can you get Charlus back to the tower?" Minerva asked. Being discovered by a professor would be bad enough, but she had a feeling the punishment would be significantly worse if the presence of firewhiskey were to be discovered as well.

"Of course," Augusta nodded, already hooking her arm beneath Charlus' and attempting to drag him to his feet. "You're not coming?"

"No," Minerva said, swallowing the sick feeling of panic that flared. If she stayed, she would certainly be caught. There would be detention. Likely a loss of house points. But, all the same, "Gabriel's a Gryffindor. Some of us ought to stay with him."

Alphard rolled his eyes exasperatedly, no doubt preparing some scathing comeback on the reckless nature of Gryffindors. Minerva arched an eyebrow at him and waited, but something about Tiberius' and Alastor's matching scowls kept Alphard quite silent.

"We'll see you later then," Augusta finally managed to get Charlus up and moving, the pair of them vanishing into the darkness at the end of the corridor.

"Would the rest of you not presently acting as some sort of honor guard help me transfigure everything back to normal in the staff room?" Alphard asked, rolling his eyes.

Geoffery and Amelia cast one long look at Gabriel and hurriedly returned to the staff room, where a number of snaps signaled the reversal of Alphard's spells. Donald moved only grudgingly, head still turned toward the message on the wall even as he walked away. Out of the corner of her eye, Minerva noticed Tiberius brushing two fingers across one of the red letters. He jerked his hand away abruptly as though burned, but remained silent. Not until Alphard joined the others in the staff room did Tiberius finally speak.

"Alastor," Tiberius raised his hand into the wand light. Two of his fingers, the ones he had brushed against the wall, were smeared red. "Tis still wet."

"Was afraid of that." Alastor muttered, clearly doing his best not to swear out loud. Instead he raised his wand and walked towards the opposite end of the corridor, booted footsteps heavy in the silence. Save for a trail of light and the glow of his red hair, Alastor virtually disappeared into the shadows, banging, and in some cases kicking, at each door he found along the hall. The blows were heavy, like thunder bouncing off the stones, shattering the night in booming rhythm.

"Perhaps you ought to stop," Minerva suggested, glancing back towards the end of the corridor that held only shadows and strangeness. The door to the staff room swung open, a scowling Alphard stepping back out into the corridor. His face was no longer so shockingly pale, and his vampire robes had been transfigured back into ordinary school robes.

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" Alphard demanded as Alastor returned from his search, clearly intent on checking the opposite end as well.

"They could've still been up here," Alastor said shortly. "Hiding in a classroom."

"And if they were, you've probably given them a nice scare," Alphard allowed, opening the door wider as Donald, Geoffery, and Amelia slipped out. "But all that noise is about as helpful as Amelia's."

"I said I was sorry!" Amelia rounded on Alphard, bracelets jangling and clinking on her wrists. Geoffery tugged on her shoulder, shaking his head.

"W-why don't we just go. You t-two can argue l-later."

Amelia considered this option, red-faced and seemingly set on having a shouting match with Alphard on the spot. Minerva shook her head though, urging Amelia to go on and get back to the Hufflepuff common room. After a few more tugs from Geoffery, Amelia finally relented.

"I really am sorry."

"Nothing ta be sorry for," Tiberius assured her. "I'm surprised nobody else screamed. Bit of a shock, after all."

All of them nodded silently at this, everyone pointedly keeping their eyes away from the still-unmoving Gabriel. The wand light cast odd shadows over the body, ghostlike and staring endlessly upward, arm reflected in the looking glass. The sound of footsteps echoed up from the far end of the corridor, prompting Geoffery and Amelia to move, and quickly.

"Great p-party, Alphard," Geoffery called over his shoulder, stage whispering as loudly as he dared. Donald hesitated another moment before shaking hands with everyone, thanking Alphard, and following in the direction the two Hufflepuffs had gone. Minerva guessed Donald would be sleeping very little this night, and would instead be spending the next few hours in the company of his books. Something about the message had unnerved the Ravenclaw boy, and sooner or later Minerva intended to find out precisely what.

"Get rid of your costumes!" Alphard hissed, gesturing at his own transfigured robes. Minerva could not quite bring herself to transfigure the dress itself, not after all the time that she and Augusta spent working on the details. Instead she summoned the robe she had worn to the feast, hiding the dress just as she had earlier. Tiberius and Alastor meanwhile worked furiously to undo the charms that held their costumes together.

"Why are you still here?" Tiberius asked, looking at Alphard.

"Because I am incredibly good at talking my way out of trouble," Alphard said simply. When Alastor muttered "Slytherins" under his breath, Alphard added, "And Gabriel is my friend too."

This answer seemed to be good enough for the boys, who were admittedly too distracted at the moment to properly argue. Tiberius vanished his fake mustache and transfigured his vest into a school robe, fingers stumbling over the buttons. Alastor had left his boots in place, but his coat had apparently been a transfigured robe all along and shifted easily back into its natural form.

"Your eyepatch!" Minerva gestured toward Alastor's face. His frowned at first, then realized her meaning, stuffing the eyepatch into his pocket. The footsteps grew louder still, two sets, if Minerva's hearing served correctly. She moved back to stand between Alastor and Tiberius, Alphard placing himself between Tiberius and the wall.

"We're going to be caught," Minerva said mournfully, still having not quite resigned herself to the prospect of detention.

"We've been caught before," Alastor reminded her gently, giving her hand a quick squeeze as he spoke.

"Never with a dead body, I reckon," Alphard's words earned him a cuff to the back of the head, courtesy of Tiberius.

"He's not dead," the Scotsman insisted. "He cannae be."

If Alphard intended to argue, he did not have the time. Two bright points of light split the darkness, revealing two separate wizards. The first was a pajama-clad Professor Slughorn, head of Slytherin House, and Minerva almost breathed a sigh of relief. With Alphard along, trouble could almost certainly be avoided in any instance where Slughorn happened to be involved. Unfortunately, the second wizard was Tom Riddle, and Minerva felt far less relieved at the sight of him. Tom , on the other hand, appeared quite pleased to have caught this particular group of sixth years out of bed past curfew, while Slughorn looked merely baffled.

"You see professor, I told you I'd heard something," Tom said.

"Indeed you did, Tom," Slughorn said weakly, eyes fixed on Gabriel's froze form. "Alphard, dear boy, what's the meaning of all this?"

"Well, Professor, we just found poor Gabriel like this, and I was about to come and find you," Alphard's expression was one of gravest concern. In another life, he would have done quite well as a Muggle actor, Minerva decided.

"But what were you doing out in the first place?" Slughorn seemed unconvinced, especially once he took notice of Alphard's present company. "What were any of you doing out?"

"They caught us," Alastor answered quickly, earning surprised looks from virtually everyone in the corridor. "Alphard and I were charming the suits of armor. Tiberius and Minerva caught us."

Tiberius seized hold of the back of Alphard's robe as proof of this, nodding furiously.

"Looks ta have be them behind tha whole thing."

Slughorn seemed quite relieved at this, at least until his eyes flickered over to Gabriel again. Neither the professor nor Tom had noticed the writing on the wall, at least not yet. Minerva pointed her wand at Alastor as though she had actually caught him up to no good and sincerely hoped his explanation would work.

"I didn't know you two had patrol tonight," Tom said lightly. The younger boy's eyes passed from Tiberius to Minerva, lingering longer than she would have liked. Alastor's knuckles cracked as his grip tightened around his wand, earning a smirk from Tom.

"Tis Halloween," Tiberius shrugged, "Got ta be keeping an extra eye out."

Tom's eyes narrowed, but as he was neither Head Boy nor a professor, he could not openly challenge this explanation. Still, Minerva rather hoped that no one would actually think to check the schedule.

"Are you trying some new fashion, Moody?" Tom arched an eyebrow, tugging at his own ear. Alastor's hand repeated the motion, his face impressively calm as he realized that the earring was still in place. Minerva did her best to neither frown nor swear.

"As a matter of fact I am," Alastor said. "Not jealous are you, Tom?"

That particular question had been a bit unnecessary in Minerva's opinion, because now Tom was frowning and did not look to have taken the question as any sort of joke. Not that Alastor had likely meant it as a joke in the first place, but still.

"Professor, do you think perhaps you could help Gabriel?" Minerva spoke for the first time, determined to keep off the subject of why the four sixth years were out in the middle of the night and keep Alastor and Tom from outright fighting. Slughorn stepped lightly over to where Gabriel lay, pressing two fingers to the boy's neck and murmuring a spell of some sort under his breath.

"Merlin's beard, but I'm afraid I can't," Slughorn turned, catching sight for the first time of the red-smeared writing on the wall. The professor's face rapidly paled, which in turn did nothing for Minerva's own concern.

"Tom, dear boy, would you take Mr. Valentine to the Hospital Wing?"

Tom had been reading the message with an odd expression on his face, and did not seem at all pleased to be dismissed. He did not argue though, much to Minerva's surprise, merely levitated Gabriel off the ground and directed him back toward the stairs, vanishing into the darkness once more.

"I think we ought to be going back to our dormitories now," Alphard said slowly, dropping an elbow into Tiberius' ribs in an effort to free himself from the Scotsman's hold.

"No," Slughorn's voice had lost all trace of his usual good-nature. He was not angry, but something else. Scared, Minerva's mind supplied. The professor was afraid. "You four come with me. We need to pay a visit to the headmaster."

* * *

The headmaster had, unsurprisingly, been sound asleep, and was not at all pleased to be woken in the middle of the night. He was even less pleased when Professor Slughorn informed him of the nature of the visit, the writing on the wall, and the frozen Gabriel Valentine. Of course, the moment Slughorn mentioned the Chamber of Secrets, Headmaster Dippet leaped out of his chair with surprising speed. In the same rapid motion Dippet rounded the desk, seized Slughorn by the arm, and marched him outside, slamming the office door behind him. The four students were left sitting in uncomfortable silence on four hastily conjured chairs, listening as the two professors argued outside.

"Suppose now's a good time to tell us what you know?" Alastor suggested, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms.

"There's some silly story that years ago, Salazar Slytherin built the Chamber of Secrets before he left Hogwarts," Alphard waggled his fingers, smirking a bit.

"What's so grand about that?" Tiberius frowned.

"Dunno. I never really cared all that much to ask," Alphard shrugged. "My dear sister talks about the place like the Holy Grail's hidden inside."

"Clearly it's something horrible then," Minerva sniffed disdainfully at the mention of Walburga Black. Alphard had been at war with his elder sister as long as he had been at Hogwarts, and had been counting the years until he would at last be able to attend school without her. Walburga was in her seventh year now, and Minerva could honestly say that she hoped to never encounter the girl again once graduation arrived in June. Alphard might have been obsessed with Muggles, but Walburga was just the opposite, and far more vocal, and sometimes cruel, about her opinions than Alphard ever was.

"Why'd he build it in the first place?" Alastor asked. He and Tiberius sat on either side of Alphard, leaning inward, and Minerva felt as though she were watching an interrogation take place.

"Once again, I haven't the foggiest. Nor, before you ask, do I know what that has to do with any 'heirs,'" Alphard said.

The office door opened enough for Professor Dippet to look around the edge of the door. He surveyed the four students with his eyes narrowed, no longer appearing half-asleep, but wholly on-edge.

"Kirk, Black. Come out here."

Tiberius stood slowly, keeping his face entirely neutral as he straightened to his full height. Alphard brushed off his robes as he rose from his seat, dwarfed by Tiberius height but nonetheless doing his best to appear imposing. The door slammed shut again the moment Alphard's robe vanished out onto the landing. For a moment or two voices would trickle through from the opposite side of the door, but Dippet must have cast a Silencing Charm because the words entirely vanished abruptly.

A clock was ticking somewhere in the room, the sound slow and steady as a heartbeat, though Minerva could not tell where precisely the noise was coming from. She had only ever been in the headmaster's office a handful of times, and only once for any sort of disciplinary reason. Those visits had always been during the day though, with sunlight streaming in the high windows and glowing on the delicate instruments Dippet kept on various shelves and tables. The portraits crowded the walls, most of them wide awake and watching Minerva and Alastor with curiosity. A few looked more cross than curious, and Minerva pointedly avoided eye contact with any portrait who looked to be preparing any sort of lecture. The Sorting Hat rested on the shelf above her, battered and shabby looking, and shadows hung at the edges of the room, filled with the portraits' whispers. Minerva shifted in her seat, feeling very much as though she were waiting to attend an interrogation at best, and an execution at worst. Her parents would be utterly furious when they found about all this, not that Minerva really blamed them.

"Been an interesting Halloween," Alastor's voice interrupted her thoughts. He had been sitting with his eyes closed, arms still crossed, and had Minerva not known better she would have thought he was sleeping. He opened one eye when she did not respond immediately. "Well, it has."

"I'd certainly say so," Minerva sighed. "Why did you tell Slughorn that you were charming the suits of armor?"

"Didn't want you to get in any more trouble," Alastor shrugged. "And...it was sort of true. I just wasn't charming the armor right _then_."

Minerva's eyes widened as she understood his meaning,

"That was you?"

"I had help, of course," Alastor said, grinning crookedly. "Quite a lot of armor for one wizard to bewitch."

She considered telling him off, lecturing him perhaps, but Minerva found herself doubled over laughing instead. After the scene in the corridor, after what had happened to Gabriel, laughter banished back the lingering doubts and darkness, if only for a moment.

"Alastor! Some of those jokes were awful!"

"I can't take all the credit," Alastor sighed in regret, "You know how those Scotsmen are."

"This is what I get for leaving you two unattended," Minerva gently slapped Alastor on the shoulder, adopting her most put-upon expression. "You start doing mad things, like bewitching armor. And piercing your ear."

"Yes, well...perhaps that wasn't one of our best ideas," Alastor allowed. "Think you can heal it for me?"

"I'm tempted to leave it there as an object lesson," Minerva said dryly. At Alastor's panicked expression, she laughed and added, "But if you insist."

"Thanks," Alastor smiled, one hand moving as though to tug on the offending earring. Minerva caught him though, taking hold of his wrist and pulling his fingers away before he could cause too much more damage.

Silence fell again, the clock ticking in the background, and Minerva knew the words she ought to say. Pretending that none of the portraits were listening, that the headmaster was not standing just outside, Minerva took a deep breath and readied herself to apologize.

"I am sorry," she said. "For the hexing and for...everything else."

"Think I'm supposed to be the one apologizing," Alastor said gruffly. "Was all my fault, for not telling you before about Bell."

Minerva halfway smiled at this, accepting his apology and glad that he seemed to be accepting of her own.

"So does this mean...everything goes back to normal?" she asked after a moment, meeting Alastor's dark eyes.

"Well, Gabriel's been hexed, someone's writing on the walls...doesn't sound too normal to me," Alastor said with a wink.

"You know what I meant," Minerva sighed exasperatedly, fighting not to grin and reward his antics.

"I don't think it can," Alastor said softly, suddenly gravely serious. Minerva stiffened, entirely surprised by his honesty. She had a horrible, tight feeling that she had ruined everything, that she had missed her chance. As she moved to pull away, her fingers loosening their hold around his wrist, Alastor caught her hand and frowned.

"But...I don't want it to. Be the same I mean," he explained, taking her hand in his and smiling warmly, redness rapidly spreading across his face. Minerva understood that for the usually reserved Alastor, that particular statement had taken a great amount of effort, and she very nearly kissed him in the middle of the headmaster's office, portraits and all. Seeing as they were likely in quite a lot of trouble already, Minerva settled for squeezing his hand tightly, mentally noting to save that kiss for later.

"Then neither do I," she said, heart fluttering and skipping a beat as Alastor's grin broke into a wide smile.

"Brilliant!" Alastor's eyes flickered down to the sight of her hand in his, and if possible his smile grew even wider. "Do you ah...want to go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow?"

"I do believe I've been going to Hogsmeade with you since third year," Minerva said coolly, smirking at him.

"I mean...as a date," Alastor's face went even redder as he said "date" aloud, his expression slightly pained but mostly hopeful.

"I certainly would, if we were still going to Hogsmeade tomorrow," Minerva answered with a smile, not wanting to leave him suffering too incredibly long. Alastor's smile faltered and he frowned confusedly.

"Says who?"

"That's the first thing Dippet said when Slughorn told him what had happened," Minerva explained. "Cancel the Hogsmeade visit."

"Oh," Alastor nodded, recalling the hurried, hushed conversation between the two professors, "Right. I expect it'll be rescheduled then."

"I would imagine so," Minerva allowed, grinning when she was sure Alastor was not looking.

"Then...do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me...whenever we go get to go?" Alastor tried again, expression not quite as pained as the last time.

"I'd love to," Minerva said, leaning forward and kissing Alastor on the cheek. His face, which had been beginning to fade back to normal, abruptly turned a light shade of crimson. Still, he was grinning madly, and Minerva smiled as well. She had not ruined anything at all. She would go to Hogsmeade with Alastor, and they would have a lovely time, and all would be right with the world. Her heart was still pounding, but for entirely different reasons now, and Minerva gave Alastor's hand another squeeze. Thoughts of Gabriel, of the Chamber of Secrets and the writing on the wall all came tumbling back, threatening in the shadows, dark and sinister in the night. Minerva held tight to Alastor's hand, finding comfort in the silence of his presence. Madame Hewitt would return Gabriel back to normal, and someone would clean away the message on the wall, and the horrible Halloween prank would vanish in the light of day. Now all that remained was to wait patiently for Headmaster Dippet to return.


	11. Battle Lines and Bitter Rivals

A/N - Alright first off, I just realized that my title for the last chapter (The Writing on the Wall) is the same as one of the chapter titles in Chamber of Secrets. My bad. I'm totally leaving it that way (because I like it), but I do feel marginally less witty about the whole thing. Oh well. Secondly, I hope you all enjoyed the nice, happy ending that came with the last chapter. For this chapter, might recommend you...brace yourselves.

* * *

News of the attack on Gabriel spread like Fiendfyre over the next week. Several rather outlandish stories had sprung up, courtesy of the more creative storytellers among the Hogwarts students. Most of the third and fourth years seemed to be under the impression that Gabriel had been the victim of a midnight duel gone wrong. Walburga Black had unsurprisingly boasted that the incident had been revenge for "the mudblood daring to touch an heir of the House of Black." Charlus Potter, meanwhile, raved to anyone who would listen that the attack had been engineered by the Slytherin Quidditch team. The Slytherins insisted total innocence of the matter, though that unsurprisingly failed to stop them harassing Charlus anyway. Due to the lack of posturing though, the lack of outright triumphant bragging, Alastor rather doubted that Richard Nott, or any other Quidditch player, had engineered the attack. Tiberius had assured Charlus that Gabriel would be just fine for the match, and a panic-stricken Thomas Cromwell had done the same. Thomas had actually laughed when informed that he might have to play Keeper in the upcoming Gryffindor-Slytherin match. Well, laughed until he realized that Charlus remained deathly serious. At that point, Thomas had stopped laughing abruptly, and had begun to look rather ill.

On Wednesday afternoon, less than two days away from the match, Professor Dumbledore assembled all the Gryffindors in the common room.

"Do you think he's come to tell us Gabriel's alright?" Augusta whispered from her seat on the sofa.

"Hopefully," Alastor said. He cast a sidelong look at Charlus, who had seated himself at one of the tables, drumming his fingers against the polished wood as he watched Dumbledore anxiously. Alastor leaned against the sofa, arms crossed, and Tiberius stood beside him, hands in his pockets and tie hanging loose already. After a brief conversation with two fifth year girls, Minerva stationed herself at Alastor's right, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek that earned gagging noises from both Tiberius and Augusta. Before Alastor could properly threaten anyone, Dumbledore cleared his throat to call everyone's attention and end the scattered conversations.

"As most of you are I'm sure aware, Mr. Valentine suffered a most unfortunate accident on Halloween," the professor said.

"Wasn't an accident," Rupert Scrimgeour grumbled, "Those mad Slytherins, must have been."

"Casting blame without evidence will certainly not help Mr. Valentine," Dumbledore said shortly, fixing Rupert with a steady look. "In the meantime, Madame Hewitt is doing the best she can."

"She can't just heal him?" Charlus paled considerably, fingers stilling almost instantly.

"I'm afraid he has been petrified," Dumbledore shook his head, "And while the condition is fortunately quite reversible, a number of fully grown Mandrakes are required for the proper potion."

"Surely someone can get hold of those?" Charlus sounded as desperate as he looked now, eyes darting around the room, searching for help of any sort. Most people pointedly diverted their eyes, or else shrugged helplessly. Alastor might not have stayed on for NEWT Herbology, but even he knew that Mandrakes were rare creatures, and dangerous when fully grown. Not many wizards would be keeping them in the garden.

"As it so happens Mr. Potter, Professor Beery is in possession of a number of Mandrakes," Professor Dumbledore said. "Although I regret to say none are quite near maturity."

"How long will it take then?" Augusta asked when Charlus remained stiffly silent.

"A few months, perhaps," Dumbledore admitted, "But he will be perfectly fine until then."

The common room remained silent for another few seconds before a wave of chatter crashed across the room. Gabriel would not be able to play in Friday's match. Nor, for that matter, would he be playing in any matches in the foreseeable future. Alastor began to allow for the possibility that the Slytherins really had engineered the whole thing.

"Anyone who has any information about Mr. Valentine's attack is urged to come to my office," Dumbledore raised his voice to speak over the noise of the crowd, "All other students have been encouraged to do the same."

The latter part had been added after Rupert Scrimgeour shouted something about "filthy Slytherins" that earned him yet another reproving look.

"I would also ask that, in light of these events, all of you refrain from wandering the corridors at night," Professor Dumbledore said gravely, gaze sweeping over the room one final time. The professor's blue eyes lingered a moment over Tiberius, Alastor, and Minerva, all three of whom shifted uncomfortably. Still, Alastor met Dumbledore's eyes easily. He had nothing to hide, after all. Dumbledore knew perfectly well that Alastor had been in the corridor on the night of the attack, and that Tiberius and Minerva had been there as well. What he did not know, however, was precisely why, and Alastor was not exactly keen on adding to his two weeks' worth of detention.

Apparently satisfied with the conversation, Dumbledore smiled cheerily and stepped back out onto the stairs, the portrait swinging shut behind him. The noise in the common room abruptly exploded, everyone talking and pointing and in a few cases shouting all at the same time. Charlus groaned loudly, knocking his head against the table in a steady rhythm of heavy thuds. Thomas Cromwell, who had been standing near the portrait hole, swayed dangerously, and then promptly fainted.

* * *

By lunchtime on Thursday, battle lines had effectively been drawn. The Gryffindors, led largely by Charlus and his tirades, firmly and vocally blamed the Slytherins for Gabriel's petrified state. The Slytherins meanwhile found the whole thing highly amusing and had taken to betting on precisely how much they would win by on Friday. Alastor did not consider himself entirely persuaded by Charlus' argument, but apart from Alphard he had never much cared for Slytherins and cared even less for Slytherins who decided to run their mouths. Three fights broke out before dinner, though Alastor himself was only directly involved in one of them. Dozens more skirmishes had taken place throughout the day, hexes and jinxes sounding through the corridors between classes. The common rooms for each respective house acted as relative safe zones, at least until someone had decided to charm the Slytherin common room red and gold. Alastor suspected Alphard had been behind this particular assault, based on the boy's smug expression, but the Slytherins were utterly furious either way. Having spent so long dodging hexes from angry girls, Alastor had been looking forward to some relative peace after making up with Minerva. The relative peace had, unfortunately, lasted less than a week.

Friday morning, Alastor had already dodged three separate hexing attempts before he even reached breakfast, and he declared as much as he sat down to eat.

"Did you see who it was?" Minerva asked, looking as though she might attempt to catch the culprits herself. The prefects had been doing their best over the last two days to break up the fights before anything too serious could happen. This was of course on the occasions when the prefects themselves were not involved in the fight to begin with.

"Gibbon," Alastor said around a mouthful of food, "One of the Blacks, maybe."

"That's an easy guess," Tiberius laughed, "Half of Slytherin's got tha last name Black."

While the Slytherins had been keen to put any member of the Gryffindor team out of commission, they seemed to be especially interested in taking out the Gryffindor Seeker. The fact that Tiberius had survived all the way to Friday relatively unscathed was an impressive feat.

"Well, I didn't stop to get a good look at them," Alastor said.

"You mean you actually managed to stay out of a fight?" Minerva sounded incredulous, her expression somewhat pleased, and Alastor almost felt bad that he had to disagree.

"Course not. I meant I hexed them and kept moving."

Tiberius choked on his food as he laughed, and Minerva rolled her eyes, pretending to be exasperated. Alastor just grinned and kept eating, deciding not to mention that he had locked his attackers into a broom cupboard as well.

"T-tell me you're going to beat t-them," Geoffery leaned down beside Tiberius, casting a scowl over his shoulder toward the Slytherin table.

"Of course we are," Minerva said. "Their team's not nearly as good as they like to think."

There were times Alastor sincerely wished he could summon up some of Minerva's unflappable calm, and today was certainly one of those occasions. He would, he supposed, simply have to make do with his temper instead.

"Dinnae you threaten ta throw Lestrange off his broom?" Tiberius asked.

"I believe I did," Alastor nodded, recalling that particular threat. "I'd hate to disappoint him."

"Don't c-care who you throw off their b-brooms, just make sure y-you win," Geoffery said. "Merlin, but we'll n-never hear the end of it otherwise."

"Not to mention Charlus might take a leap off the Astronomy Tower," Minerva muttered, nodding down the table in the direction of the Gryffindor captain. The Slytherins had more or less left Charlus alone, which was both surprising and probably an intelligent decision on their part. His best friend had been petrified, and now his much-praised Quidditch team was forced to make due with an untested fifth year as Keeper. Even Alastor himself would not have dared harass Charlus Potter, not while he wore that fierce looked that all but begged for someone to pick a fight. Geoffery wished them good luck one final time, then jogged away to the Hufflepuff table. The space beside Tiberius did not stay empty long as Donald chose that moment to step over from the Ravenclaw table.

"Morning everyone," Donald said "All set for the match?"

"There's a match today?" Tiberius gasped, "Merlin, I knew I was forgettin' something."

"I was being serious," Donald said, managing a wane smile nonetheless. Donald had barely slept since Halloween, allegedly because of a sudden increase in homework. In actuality, Alastor was fairly confident that Donald had been spending his time digging through the oldest, mustiest books in the castle. Still, the dark smudges beneath his owlish eyes had begun to fade somewhat, so Donald must have managed at least a night or two of decent sleep.

"I think we're quite ready," Alastor said, "Except for Tiberius, who is of course, rubbish as always."

"Oi! I win matches!" Tiberius insisted.

"Except for the times you don't," Alastor arched an eyebrow, ducking in time to avoid a fork that Tiberius threw at him. He lifted a piece of toast, fully intent on returning fire, but Minerva grabbed hold of his arm and stopped him.

"Not at the table, boys," she said wearily, prying the toast out of Alastor's hand, "And not before the match."

Tiberius grumbled something else about the importance of Seekers, summoning his fork back with a flick of his wand.

"Alphard says good luck as well," Donald gestured over his shoulder. "Obviously he can't say so in person."

"You're telling me he wants us to win?" Minerva asked.

"I'm telling you Alphard would like it to be a good match," Donald sighed, "You know how he loves a controversy. And spiting his siblings."

"I'm sure Alphard's thrilled his brother's playing," Tiberius rolled his eyes.

"Actually he asked if one of you might, and this is a quote, mind you, 'Give the bugger a nice blow to the head,'" Donald sighed, pushing his glasses back into place. The motion was proved a bit meaningless, however, when he was shoved in the back by Damien Rosier.

"Watch yourself, Pritchett," Rosier sneered. "You're standing in my way."

Alastor was halfway out of his seat before Minerva managed to tug him back down. Tiberius stood instead, at first straightening up to his full height and then pointedly bending to Rosier's eye level.

"Think ye best keep moving."

"You threatening me, Kirk?" Rosier sounded all too-eager at the prospect of a fight.

"If he isn't," Donald drew his wand in a smooth motion, fixing his glasses and rounding on Rosier. "I certainly am."

Rosier backed up a step or two, looking as though he could not decide whether or not he ought to be concerned. He was rescued from this decision by an irritated Richard Nott, who all but dragged his friend to the doors that led out to the Entrance Hall, where the rest of the Slytherin team waited.

"I'll see you lot on the pitch," Rosier said, twisting so he could grin wickedly at the Gryffindor table one last time. A number of people stood up, most of them Quidditch players. Alastor left his wand in his pocket, settling instead for his most menacing glare in the direction of the retreating Slytherins.

"Come on then," Charlus had been the only Quidditch player to remain seated. As soon as the Slytherins vanished out into the hall though, he was up and moving. "Let's get out of here before they decide to try anything else."

Alastor cast a sorrowful look at his half-eaten breakfast, but nonetheless swung one leg over the bench, then the other.

"Good luck then," Donald smiled grimly, adding a salute for good measure. Alastor and Tiberius both saluted back, Minerva returning Donald's grim smile, and then the three of them were following their captain out of the Great Hall, rousing cheers from the Gryffindor table echoing behind them.

* * *

"Did you know, Moody," Oliver Lockhart dropped his voice to a whisper, "that the Slytherins have a bet going?"

"About how much they intend to beat us by?" Alastor kept searching for his right glove, which had fallen into a pile of discarded robes. "I'd heard."

"Not just that," Lockhart said, "On how many of us they can hurt."

"Really now?" Alastor arched an eyebrow.

Lockhart merely nodded, twisting his hands around his beater's bat as though he were trying to strangle the thing. Scowling, Alastor jerked the bat out of Lockhart's hands and struck the bench, hard. The resulting bang earned the attention of everyone else in the locker room, and earned a spectacular jump backward from Lockhart himself.

"You're a Beater, for Merlin's sake," Alastor growled, tossing the bat into the air. "Hit them before they hit you."

Lockhart fumbled the catch badly, the bat hitting the floor and rolling away beneath the bench. Charlus, who had been pacing in front of the door, took the opportunity to call the team to order.

"They're not expecting much of a match," Charlus said simply, looking as though the very words caused him some sort of mortal pain. "But I certainly plan to give them one. As I matter of fact, I plan to win."

Charlus fixed each of them with a steady, hard gaze, half-determination, half-desperation.

"We've got smarter Beaters, that's for sure. And the best Seeker in the school."

Tiberius grinned proudly and gave a mock bow from his seat.

"Don't say things like that," Minerva said, "Or we'll never hear the end of it."

Nervous laughter rippled across the locker room, as though no one was really sure if laughing just now would be appropriate.

"We've got three Chasers who can certainly outfly and outplay anyone Slytherin's got on the pitch," Charlus went on, hands on his hips. His gaze shifted to Thomas, who had retreated to an empty bench. "And we've got a Keeper who's going to astounded everyone."

Alastor had a feeling that by "everyone", Charlus was including himself. A week's worth of heavy practice had not been nearly enough time to show much improvement in their new Keeper. Still, Charlus' had apparently chosen precisely the right words, because Thomas managed something that vaguely resembled a smile. Alastor pretended not to notice that the boy's hands were shaking.

"You hear that, up there?" Charlus pointed toward the ceiling now. The stands overhead had begun to fill, noise echoing down like distant thunder and growing louder every minute. "They're here for a match. Let's give them one to remember."

Finished with his speech, Charlus made another sweep with his hard, determined look before striding off to wait by the door. Thomas leaped up to follow him almost immediately, broom clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

"Catch that Snitch fast, Kirk," Scrimgeour whispered once Thomas was out of hearing range. "I mean, set-a-record fast."

"You keep tha Bludgers off me, and I'll see what I can do," Tiberius said, broom slung over one shoulder. Alastor reached down and retrieved his boots, hurrying to pull them on as quickly as possible.

"Ready?" Minerva asked, arms crossed. Her hair was pulled back into a tight braid, glasses perched on the end of her nose. She looked lovely in her Quidditch uniform, if Alastor did say so himself.

"Of course," Alastor grinned. "Are you?"

"Naturally," Minerva sniffed, stepping lightly over Alastor's outstretched leg.

"How bout a kiss for luck then?" Alastor chanced, finishing with one boot and switching to the next. Minerva arched an eyebrow at him but did not seem to be inclined to go along with the idea.

"You're impossible," Minerva said, rolling her eyes for good measure. Alastor took this to mean 'no' and thus turned his attention back to his boots. He was therefore quite surprised when Minerva grabbed hold of his face with both hands and kissed him soundly.

"I regret nothing," Alastor said, grinning as she pulled away. This of course earned him a smack to the head, but Alastor merely laughed.

Finished with his boots, everything else already in place, Alastor lifted his broom off the bench and motioned for Minerva to lead the way. Tiberius waited at the back of the group, smiling over his shoulder as Alastor and Minerva joined the rest of the team.

The noise above them no longer sounded like distant thunder, the roars and chants of the crowd crashing like surf on the shore, dizzying and endless and intoxicating. Alastor shut his eyes, adrenaline pounding through him and the very air electric against his skin. He recalled the fight on the way to breakfast, Rosier shoving Donald, the sneer on the Slytherin's face. The memory prompted fresh anger, fresh determination. The roar of the crowd shook the very earth beneath him, vibrating deep in his bones like drums calling from some ancient time of smoke and magic and shadow. Adrenaline twisted through him, burning in his blood, and Alastor opened his eyes, took a deep breath, then two, heart racing in his chest.

Then Charlus pushed open the door, a silhouette framed in the weak November sun, and Alastor took one final breath before following the team out of the locker room. The Gryffindor Captain raised his broom above his head as he stepped out onto the field, signaling more to the crowd than to the team, and if the noise had been loud before the roar that greeted them was deafening. Wind swept across the pitch, short grass crunching beneath every step. The air was cool and chill and perfect, sky a dull grey that threatened snow in the coming days. Not this day though. This day was meant for Quidditch.

The Slytherins crossed from the opposite side of the field, Rosier and Nott wearing identical sneers. Cygnus Black looked to be carrying one of the new Comet model brooms, likely to be one of the fastest on the pitch. Hastings, the Slytherin Keeper, was the only one foolish enough to make any comments about Gabriel. Tiberius and Alastor had to restrain Charlus from doing anything illegal in the presence of so many witnesses.

"Settle down, you lot!" Professor Deverill bellowed, striding out onto the field with a broom in one hand and a Quaffle in the other. "Captains, shake hands."

Tiberius and Alastor exchanged a long look overtop of Charlus' head before releasing their captain. Shoulder's squared and scowling, Charlus strode forward and seized Nott's hand before the Slytherin captain could so much as speak. Apparently satisfied with the proceedings, Deverill gave a brief speech about sportsmanship and playing clean, which of course nobody was going to actually obey.

Alastor mounted his broom, heartbeat pounding in his ears in tandem with the chants echoing down from the crowd. He took one last deep breath, nodded to Tiberius and sent a wink at Minerva. When he was sure Deverill was looking the opposite way, Alastor caught Lestrange's attention and waved a rude gesture at him. Before Lestrange had time to properly react, Deverill blew the whistle, tossing the Quaffle up into the air. Kicking off from the turf, cold air sharp in his face, Alastor rocketed skyward, dodging an early Bludger and sincerely hoping Thomas Cromwell turned out to be the greatest natural-born Keeper in England.

* * *

The match quickly grew entirely out of hand. Minerva opened the scoring with three straight goals, all to rousing cheers from three-quarters of the stands. Unfortunately, Thomas had yet to stop a single shot, and Slytherin had taken a commanding lead. Scrimgeour and Lockhart, talented Beaters in their own right, were outmatched by Rosier and Lestrange. Alastor had spent more time dodging Bludgers than he ever recalled doing in previous matches, though that probably had something to do with his antagonizing of Lestrange. Charlus managed to steal the Quaffle from Black, tossing the ball away before he was forced to dive to avoid Nott's counterattack. Alastor sped up, stretching forward with one hand to catch the Quaffle. He drew his arm back just in time to avoid yet another Bludger, one that would have easily shattered his wrist.

Black and Nott swerved around to come chasing after him now, Black's broom definitely proving it's worth as he gained at an uncomfortable speed. Alastor rolled neatly beneath the younger boy's arm as he swung outward. Cygnus had almost certainly been intending to hit him rather than steal the Quaffle, and thus Alastor had no issue with kicking out and knocking the other boy's broom off course. Swearing spectacularly, Black tried and failed to right himself as Lockhart's bat finally connected with a Bludger and let fly in the direction of the Slytherin's newest Chaser. Alastor did not take the time to look back, but based on the crumpling noise that carried over the sound of the crowd, he would guess that the Bludger had found the target.

The fans were cheering him on now, the noise electric as Alastor closed in on the Slytherin goal. Rosier swooped in, flying close and attempting to knock the Quaffle loose with his bat. Alastor held on though, slamming on his brakes and allowing a stunned Rosier to hurtle past. Grinning smugly, Alastor then dropped the Quaffle to Minerva, who had been flying along below. She made the catch easily, flying straight toward the center post as Alastor and Charlus fell in on either side. Hastings charged out to stop her, and Minerva fired a pass to Alastor, who tossed the Quaffle easily through the empty left goal. The crowd erupted into fresh cheers, and Alastor pumped his fist and grinned, pretending that the score did not remain so horribly lopsided. Even if Tiberius caught the Snitch now, Slytherin would win. The faint hope for a comeback abruptly vanished as Hastings retrieved the Quaffle and tossed it to Nott, who was down the field and scoring before anyone could stop him. Alastor swore, striking his hand against his broom.

"Time out!" Charlus bellowed, waving frantically to catch Deverill's attention. "Time out!"

Deverill blew the whistle, and Alastor followed Charlus back down to the pitch. Thomas was last to arrive, looking as though he would very much like he regretted ever trying out for Quidditch at all.

"Nice pass," Alastor murmured.

"Thanks," Minerva smiled tightly.

A windblown Charlus first went after the Gryffindor Beaters, declaring that a couple of first years could not possibly be doing worse than they were. Scrimgeour attempted to explain how outsized they were, but Charlus would have none of this excuse.

"You've got better aim! You can outfly them! You've got to give us some sort of protection!"

Finished with the Beaters, Charlus turned in a circle, apparently unsure of who precisely to shout at next, running both hands through his hair. Finally he rounded on Thomas.

"Are you even remotely looking at where the Quaffle is? That's twice now you've dived to protect the wrong post."

"S-sorry, I...that's where he was...I could have sworn he was..." Thomas trailed off, face crumpling.

"Charlus, let me see your glasses," Minerva spoke up, wand out as she motioned for Charlus to hand over his glasses.

"Ah...what?" Charlus blinked, unmoving.

"Your glasses," Minerva said again, this time taking them off Charlus' face. She duplicated the glasses with an easy sweep of her wand, shoving them towards Thomas. "Try these on."

Frowning uncertainly, Thomas put on the glasses, squinting worse than usual.

"That makes it worse."

Minerva banished the duplicated pair and instead made a copy of her own spectacles. This time, Thomas' eyes widened in amazement as he settled the glasses into place.

"Merlin, that's fantastic!"

Thomas was waving both hands in front of him experimentally and thus did not see the stunned looks that passed around the Gryffindor team.

"He's...he just needed glasses?" Tiberius asked incredulously.

"Apparently so," Minerva shrugged. "Explains why he kept diving the wrong way."

Charlus opened and closed his mouth a time or two, hugged Minerva, looked to be considering kissing her until he caught sight of Alastor's face, and then turned towards Thomas once more.

"Now that you can see properly. Think you can get us back into this match?"

"I'll do my best," Thomas said. Helpful or not, Thomas still looked rather odd wearing a pair of girl's glasses. Deverill blew the whistle and summoned the teams back into the sky, Thomas flying toward the posts looking much steadier than he had before. Merlin, but they might actually have a chance.

The glasses proved to be precisely what Thomas needed, because he suddenly found the ability to stop goals at an amazing rate. The Slytherin Chasers were astounded by this turn of events, the crowd meanwhile doing their best to cheer Gryffindor back into the match. Scrimgeour and Lockhart managed to keep Rosier and Lestrange distracted enough that the danger of Bludgers decreased dramatically. The momentum had shifted, as had the scoring. Still, Gryffindor needed one last goal before Tiberius could safely catch the Snitch and win. Slytherin seemed to realize this and had increased their attempts to injure a player or two. Minerva was nearly knocked off her broom by Rosier, who claimed the collision had been entirely accidental. Charlus took a Bludger to the shoulder but refused to quit playing, and Alastor found himself being shadowed by a menacing-looking Lestrange.

Finally, miraculously, Charlus managed to score. He outflew Black and Rosier and grabbed the Quaffle from mid-air, keeping his injured arm tight against his side. One on one, Hastings never had a chance to block the shot, and as the Quaffle passed between the center post the stadium erupted in cheers. As Hastings tried to put the Quaffle back into play, looking faintly panicked now, Alastor cut in and stole the pass before Black properly got his hands on the ball. Alastor's goal was barely seconds after Charlus', and the roar of the crowd only increased. Now the match was up to the Seekers, both of which had been lurking up above the rest of the players and watching for the Snitch.

Slytherin managed to hold onto the ball, Nott looking murderous as he flew toward Thomas and the Gryffindor posts. Alastor chased along behind, unaware of the imminent danger until he heard Minerva shout "Alastor!" from across the pitch. Turning quickly, Alastor found Lestrange behind him, Beater's bat raised and wearing a wicked smile.

"Didn't I tell you I'd toss you off your broom?"

Alastor's eyes widened and he dove instinctively, ducking beneath the first swing. The pitch loomed ahead, Lestrange's broom humming along close behind. Alastor glanced back again to make sure Lestrange was still following and then waited, counting with each breath. The noise of the crowd faded to the background, his heart pounding in his chest, and Alastor waited until his boots nearly touched the pitch before turning abruptly back skyward. The broom responded immediately, arching away from the turf. A screech and a grating crash echoed from behind as Lestrange failed to pull out of the dive in time. Up above, Minerva and Charlus fought to keep the Slytherin Chasers at bay, and Alastor sped to join them. A Bludger forced him to swerve wide, and Alastor could only watch as Black cut around Charlus and fired the Quaffle toward the far post. For the briefest second, Alastor would have sworn the stadium fell silent. Thomas stretched out, perilously close to plunging headfirst off his broom, his finger tips brushing against the Quaffle. The ball changed direction, minutely, but still, bouncing harmlessly off the outside of the post and into Minerva's hands. Alastor and Charlus both cheered, Black swearing once again, but the stadium remained oddly silent. The goal prevented, all attention had shifted to the two Seekers who raced across the grey sky, chasing after a flicker of gold.

"Come on, Tiberius," Alastor murmured. "Come on."

The crowd began to chant again, a heavy rumble, and Alastor found himself chasing after Nott, who seemed determined to steal the Quaffle from Minerva. Alastor glanced up in time to see Tiberius Kirk's long reach prevail as he stretched past the Slytherin Seeker, hands closing around the Snitch. Tiberius pulled to an abrupt stop, waving his fist overhead and grinning madly as the whistle blew. Minerva dropped the Quaffle and Alastor released a breath he had not realized he had been holding, Charlus whooping with delight as he flew toward Thomas-the-miracle-Keeper. The noise in the stadium reached an utterly deafening level as Alastor and Minerva landed beside Tiberius on the pitch, neatly tackling the towering Seeker. The match was over. Gryffindor, by some utter miracle, had won.

* * *

Thomas rode into the Gryffindor common room on the shoulders of Lockhart and Scrimgeour, all three boys tumbling into a heap on the floor as soon as they passed through the portrait hole. Charlus entered next, arm in a sling and greeted like a war hero by the massive crowd. He looked to be more stunned than anything else, grinning broadly and shaking hands with everyone who came to congratulate him. Alastor followed behind Minerva, her hand wrapped around his as she tugged him along. Every Gryffindor seemed to be in the common room, red and gold banners covering the walls and hanging from the ceiling. A rousing cheer went up as the two triumphant Chasers entered, though the cheers increased dramatically in volume once Tiberius made his own grand entrance. Victorious and windblown, Tiberius loomed in the doorway, laughing good-naturedly as a group of seventh years lifted him onto their shoulders and began singing.

"You don't think they'll drop him, do you?" Charlus asked, watching the proceedings warily.

"He'll bounce," Alastor shrugged, pretending not to see Charlus' scandalized look.

Weaving his way through the crowd, Alastor found that everyone seemed to want to shake his hand or congratulate him.

"Nice game, Moody!"

"Spectacular flying. Where'd you learn to do that?"

The Gryffindors looked to be gearing up for a party of legendary proportions, and Alastor felt as though they had earned nothing less. No one had expected them to win, after all. Today the odds had been defied, and the feeling was glorious. Alastor squared his shoulders, wandering through the common room wearing a smile so huge his face began to hurt. The adrenaline from the match had begun to wear off, but the mad, happy feeling of victory had only just begun to set in. Tiberius tumbled to the floor, bouncing, just as Alastor had predicted. Alastor shook his head, shifting his attention to searching for a dark haired, bespectacled girl who he seemed to have lost track of in the crowd. A hand closed around his wrist, and Alastor turned, expecting another ecstatic fan.

"So I'm told you had a rather excellent match today," Minerva said.

"Between you and me," Alastor leaned down so he could lower his voice and still be heard, "I rather think so."

"Still impossible, I see," Minerva arched an eyebrow at him, smirk edging at the corners of her mouth.

"If it makes you feel any better, there's this girl on the team. She's supposed to be pretty impressive," Alastor said.

"Indeed?" Minerva's smirk stayed in place until Alastor moved to kiss her. Then she was grinning, shaking her head and placing one hand against his chest. "We're right in the middle of everyone!"

"Really?" Alastor glanced over his shoulder. As he had suspected, the party's attention largely remained on Tiberius and Thomas. No on had, or would, notice anything short of a small explosion. Still, Minerva seemed insistent on moving someplace at least marginally more private, leading him out of the crowd and into the shadowed corner beside the stairs. The chair that usually occupied this particular corner had been relocated, leaving quite a lot of room there between the shadows and the wall. The already-excellent day rapidly improved further as Alastor pulled Minerva closer, her arms wrapping around his neck as he kissed her.

In the distance someone might have been shouting his name, but Alastor ignored them. Merlin, he had waited too long for this, and he intended to make up for lost time, especially since Minerva seemed eager to do the same.

"Alastor!"

"Perhaps you ought to answer," Minerva whispered, "Before they come looking."

Swearing under his breath, Alastor hastily scrubbed the back of his hand over his face before stepping out of the shadows.

"What?"

"Portrait says Dumbledore wants ta see you," Tiberius said, grinning as though he knew precisely what he had interrupted. Alastor resolved to hex him later, champion Seeker or no.

"Can it wait?"

"Donnae think so. Albert's already gone anyway."

"Why's he gone?" Alastor frowned. "Thought you said Dumbledore wanted to see me."

"He said 'Mr. Moody.' Guess Bert thought that meant him," Tiberius shrugged. "Go on then, the party will be here when you get back."

Tiberius winked then, backing out of the way as Alastor took a swing at him. Waving goodbye to Minerva, Alastor stormed out of the common room, the crowd parting easily for him. Alastor could think of absolutely no reason why Dumbledore would need to talk to him, and no reason why Bert would go wandering off either. Fuming all the way to Professor Dumbledore's office, Alastor stood with his hand on the doorknob, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths and calm down. Regardless of the miserable timing, Alastor figured he ought to at least go in looking polite, collected, and entirely innocent. Besides, the sooner this finished, the sooner he could return to Minerva.

The door opened without his assistance, as though Dumbledore knew he had been standing on the other side. Bert looked around over the back of one chair, legs swinging where they hung over the seat. Alastor thought Dumbledore might have changed something about the office, perhaps added more pictures or repainted the walls. Whatever the change, Alastor found himself distracted from his inspection by the presence of Headmaster Dippet seated behind Dumbledore's desk. Dumbledore himself stood off to one side, inspecting something on the bookshelf. Instantly Alastor searched his memory for anything he had done that might have been against school rules. Well, he had locked those Slytherins in the broom cupboard this morning. Not to mention the fight on Thursday. Then of course there happened to be the small matter of the charmed suits of armor on Halloween. Plenty for the headmaster to choose from then. Spectacular.

"Mr. Moody, so glad you could join us," Professor Dippet said, "Please, take a seat."

Watching both professors warily, Alastor did as he was told, settling into the chair beside Bert's.

"I think there's been a bit of a mix up," Alastor said, "Albert doesn't need to be here."

Bert crossed his arms, highly affronted by the suggestion that he had once again wandered someplace he was not supposed to be. Professor Dumbledore spoke up before any sort of argument could occur.

"No, as a matter of fact, I was hoping you both would come."

Alastor frowned now, utterly at a loss for why both he and his younger brother would be in trouble. Bert had never, to Alastor's knowledge, even so much as served a detention. Gnawing worry began to creep in at the back of his mind, a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"What for, sir?" Alastor asked.

"Well, you see boys, I...well..." Dippet trailed off, voice even weaker than usual, "Albus, perhaps you should. They are your students, after all."

Professor Dumbledore nodded, smiling and moving around the desk to stand directly in front of Alastor and Albert. Something about the smile was wrong though, something was missing, and the cold feeling began to creep upwards through Alastor's chest. Dumbledore's blue eyes lacked their usual sparkle, and if Alastor did not know any better, he would have thought the professor looked sad. The idea was ridiculous though, unless of course Alastor had merely mistaken "disappointed" for "sad," which was entirely possible. Yes, surely that was the mistake. Dumbledore was disappointed. Not sad. Nothing at all for Dumbledore to be sad about in any way. This rapid attempt at reassurance failed miserably, and Alastor felt his blood run cold as the professor's sorrowful gaze fixed on him.

"I'm afraid...I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news...about your father."


	12. Grief Lies All Within

A/N - I tend to write to soundtracks (I mean literally, I listen to movie soundtracks while I write), and since there's one particular song that really ended up on a pretty constant loop for this chapter I thought I might share it with you guys. So if you'd like to add a little extra something to your reading experience, might I recommend opening a new tab and taking a jaunt over to Youtube. In that search box, you'll of course want to enter "Song for Athene" (and I'd also recommend choosing the version that's by the Westminster Abbey Choir). Once that's done, switch back over to the story tab, let the music pick up, and start reading....

* * *

"He's...he's coming home. For Christmas," Albert said, frowning as he looked from Dumbledore to Alastor confusedly. When no one spoke, desperation began to creep into his voice. "Tell them, Alastor."

But Alastor could not speak, could barely breath. A sick, cold feeling crept over him, and he knew, in a moment of awful, wrenching clarity, he knew what words would come next. Alastor had never so desperately wished to be wrong in all his life. Dumbledore's sad eyes and Dippet's fumbling words suddenly made infinitely more sense, and Albert stopped swinging his legs as even he realized the seriousness of the conversation.

"Albert, I'm very sorry...he won't be coming home," Dumbledore spoke at last, words heavy in the stillness, and the sympathy in his eyes, his tone, did nothing to soften the blow.

Alastor felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach, all the air knocked out of him in one swift strike. If cold had been spreading over him before, fire and heat engulfed him now, his chest aching as though something deep and heavy had settled there and refused to move. He still could not seem breath properly, and his head fell into his hands, eyes squeezed shut. The world descended into fog and haze, the only sound his own ragged breathing. Somewhere far away Albert began to speak again, his voice high and frantic, the words muffled beyond recognition. Dumbledore might have been speaking as well, might have been trying to calm Albert down or perhaps draw Alastor's attention. But Alastor could not bring himself to even try to listen, far more concerned with the sting of tears behind his eyes and the horrible, wrenching plummet his stomach seemed to have taken. He cannot cry. He will not cry. Not here, not now.

Finally Alastor managed a harsh, shaky breath, vision slipping sideways as he glanced up, elbows balanced on his knees. Albert watched him silently from his seat, biting his lip and doing his best to act grown up, even as tears begin to stream down his face.

"Alastor..."

Dumbledore reached out, pity written all over his face, and even Dippet looked sympathetic from his seat behind the desk. And suddenly a blaze of furious, terrible anger roared past the sorrow, because this was not fair. None of this was fair. Alastor could feel his temper rising dangerously, face heating and fists clenched as his skin began to prickle. He shoved himself upright, chair grating on the floor behind him, dancing out of Dumbledore's reach in his desperation to escape. The room had grown too tight, the very air weighed down and harsh to breath, and Alastor feared that if he did not leave the place would smother him. Before anyone could stop him Alastor threw open the door and sprinted into the hall, doing his best to keep moving, keep breathing. Surely there had been some sort of mistake. This was all a horrible mistake.

Someone would come looking for him, probably sooner rather than later, based on his exit from the office, and Alastor determined that he would not allow himself to be found. Not yet. He charged up several flights of stairs, exceedingly thankful for the emptiness of the halls and paying little to no attention to where exactly he happened to be going. Taking corridors at random Alastor kept moving until he deemed himself safely lost. A bathroom happened to occupy the room to his left, and Alastor threw the door open and tumbled inside, tripping over his own feet and landing in a heap on the floor.

He squeezed his eyes shut again, choking back a sob and pounding his fist against the floor once, twice. The prickling against his skin grew worse, spreading rapidly until the pent-up magic finally released, the pipes beneath the sink bursting one after another. Freezing water sprayed across his face, and Alastor gasped at the sudden, shocking coldness. He stayed sprawled on the tiles, soaked within seconds, though Alastor could not bring himself to care. After an unpleasant mouthful of icy water that left him coughing and spluttering, Alastor finally began to push himself upright. Moving slowly, dizzy and sick-feeling, he staggered through the puddles, catching himself on the sink as he slipped once again. Alastor gripped the porcelain rim as tightly as he could, long, ragged breaths burning in his throat.

Desperately Alastor clung to the idea, the mad, hopeless idea that surely there had been some mistake. His father cannot be dead. Death was something that happened to nameless soldiers, or to those who had already lived long, happy lives and could pass on surrounded by generations of family. Death did not come stealing away fathers who had promised – _promised –_ to be home for Christmas.

Anger blazed up again, fierce and so fiery hot that even Alastor himself feared the intensity. The phrase "_Not fair" _repeated itself again and again in his mind along with images, faded sepia photos of his father. The man who chased away Boggarts and told bedtime stories, who had taught him how to ride a broom and who had been so incredibly proud the when he took Alastor to buy a wand. Another sharp, searing pain in his chest, and this time with no one around to hear him Alastor sobbed out loud. Something, anything, had to make the horrible ache stop. Now would have been the perfect time for his father, his da, to walk in the door and fix everything, but Alastor knew, knew with a deep, chilling certainty that this would never happen. He would never see his da again, not the living, smiling, breathing man he remembered, and this utter helplessness served only to infuriate him further.

Striking out, determined to do something, anything, Alastor tried for hitting the mirror with one clenched fist. The impact sent a jolt of pain arching up his arm, but the mirror refused to break, and this simply would not do. He needed to break something, hit something, release some of the fury bottled up inside him. The second blow struck at the wall itself, and whether from pure force or perhaps a bit of magic kicking in, the tiles cracked. Again and again, pounding first on the wall, then on the sink, until his knuckles bled and some part of his mind registered that his hand might be broken. The pain did nothing to stop the dull throb in his chest though, and Alastor ended his assault on the sink and managed a few steps backward, sinking to a seat against the opposite wall. His breathing went ragged again, tears burning in his eyes, and Alastor scrubbed at his face, determined not to cry, no matter how horrible the ache in his chest or choking tightness in his throat.

The water had risen alarmingly, icy against his skin. His clothes clung to him, heavy and tight and weighing him down, and Alastor pulled his knees to his chest, burying his face once again as furious, hot tears finally escape him. Another horrible, wrenching jolt struck with the realization that he had left Albert alone in the office. Swearing and miserable, a chill beginning to settle over him, Alastor swore and drove his broken hand into the floor once more. Water splashed upward in high, sparkling arches, and the bones in his hand shifted and grated enough that Alastor cried out from the pain.

He concluded, holding his hand to his chest, that he was clearly the worst brother in the world for leaving Albert behind. Alastor considered going back, considered forcing himself to his feet and venturing back out into the world. But going going back would mean returning to Dumbledore's sympathy and Dippet's pity, and Alastor knew he would not be able to stand sympathy or pity, no matter how well-meaning. Honestly, part of him still feared that he might explode, that the magic and power and fire that boiled just below the surface would be beyond his control.

Alastor lost track of how long he sat on the bathroom floor, fighting to keep breathing, to keep the horrible sorrow at bay. The waters might have been rising around him, cold and swirling and tugging at his skin, but the sorrow was what threatened to drown him. Voices echoed outside the door, and Alastor knew he ought to recognize them, but again the words were odd and muffled, as though someone was speaking with their face pressed against a wool jumper. The door swung open, heralded by a sudden rush of water toward the corridor. Lights stretched across the bathroom as splashes echoed across the floor, the sound of footsteps moving closer. A hand seized him under one arm and attempted to pull him off the ground, but Alastor resisted the pull, swinging blindly.

The strike missed, or at least Alastor thought he had missed, but something sent the owner of the hand staggering backward, swearing in a heavy Scottish accent as a tremendous splash echoed. _Tiberius_. Other pairs of feet moved in and Alastor shut his eyes again, wanting nothing more than to be left alone.

Gentle hands took hold of his face, infinitely warmer than the chill waters, coaxing him to look up. Grudgingly Alastor opened one eye, almost immediately regretting the decision. Minerva had kneeled down beside him, frowning, looking as though she was trying very hard not to cry, and Alastor could not help but be horrified and embarrassed, his face reddening rapidly. He never wanted her, of all people, to see him like this. He tried to speak, but at the very idea of words his throat tightened beyond use once again. Silence became the better option then, because Alastor would not risk tears, not at this moment. Minerva had already found him hiding in a flooded bathroom, probably looking as miserable as he felt, and he ought to preserve some shred of dignity at least.

The waters began to slowly recede, leaving him soaked to the skin and shivering in the chill air. Alastor did not dare touch Minerva, not while the fury and sorrow still mixed and burned like acid inside him. The temptation remained strong though, the temptation to cling to her and let the rest of the world slip away with the retreating waters. Instead he closed his eyes again, doing his best to pretend she was not there. For that matter, he decided to try and pretend that none of them were there, that this was all some horrible dream. In doing so, Alastor failed to realize someone had pressed a wand against his head until too late. Based on the shocked expression on Minerva's face, she was just as surprised, and for that matter shouting at the wand's owner. Alastor's eyes widened for a fleeting instant as the spell closed over him. Then he was suddenly, deeply tired, hands falling limp at his sides as dark, blessed sleep swarmed up and claimed him.

* * *

Saturday, Hogsmeade found itself teeming with chattering, cheerful and rosy-cheeked Hogwarts students, most of them bundled in hats and scarves and heavy jackets. A thick layer of snow had blanketed both the castle and the village overnight, transforming the world into a crisp, clean wonderland. A snowball fight had broken out on High Street, and Honeydukes' Sweet Shop looked to be near the point of overflowing. Though a week delayed, or perhaps because of that particular reason, the students seemed determined to enjoy their escape from classes.

Inside The Three Broomsticks, tables were packed with those who had finished braving the cold for one day. Laughter rippled out over the crowd almost constantly, the pub lively and vibrant. Near the back of the room, however, at a table planted in a corner beneath the stairs, four students did not look to be having an especially good time at all. Not one of them had spoken in quite some time, and the air in the corner likened more to mourners rather than schoolchildren.

Toying with the hem of her tartan skirt, Minerva avoided making eye contact with the boys as much as possible. Not this was especially difficult, given that none of her companions seemed keen to make eye contact anyway. Geoffery watched the snowball fight taking place outside, arms crossed on the table and expression unreadable. Beside him, Donald glumly stared down at his untouched drink, head in his hands. Tiberius had maneuvered himself into the corner seat opposite Geoffery, where every few seconds he would sigh and shake his head.

Minerva knew perfectly well that all three of them were thinking of exactly the same thing she was, but neither she nor anyone else dared bring up the subject. The theory seemed to be that if no one spoke of what had happened last night, then they could successfully pretend nothing had happened at all. Gryffindor's Quidditch victory could be declared the sole event of the day, and other, darker business could be pushed into a corner. Much as she might have liked the thought, Minerva knew that this method simply would not work. Darkness had touched all of them, the shade of horrible events, and for the first time Minerva and the boys had seen the nature of the world, the grim and terrible injustice that existed outside the safe walls of Hogwarts and childhood. Suddenly growing up no longer meant freedom and adventure. Growing up meant facing one's own mortality.

Tiberius sighed again and shook his head, this time rubbing at his face with one hand. Pale purple smudges hung beneath his eyes, and Tiberius himself admitted that he had not slept much last night. He had said no more on the matter though, falling stiffly silent, and Minerva had been forced to bully an explanation out of Charlus Potter on the way to Hogsmeade.

Charlus had not exactly been forthcoming, hesitant to reveal any goings on in the sixth-year boys' dormitory. When Minerva had threatened to interrupt his meeting with a certain Dorea Black, however, Charlus suddenly became instantly more talkative. Apparently, depositing his unconscious friend in bed, Tiberius had spent the entire night seated on the floor beside Alastor's four-poster. Charlus could not recall if Alastor had ever actually woken up, or if Tiberius had been merely sitting guard just in case. Of course, at that point Charlus' face had fallen, and he had squeezed Minerva's hand and told her how truly sorry he was about all this. The words had been sincere enough, but Minerva had only nodded and watched as Charlus jogged away, snow swirling all around him.

"W-when..." Geoffery paused and cleared his throat, finally turning his attention away from the window. "When did h-he leave?"

"Early this morning," Tiberius said, "His grandfather came fer him and Albert."

Minerva shut her eyes, doubting she would ever forget a distraught Albert stumbling into the Gryffindor common room. The victory party had halted with jolting suddenness as students all but surrounded the poor boy. Albert had handled the scene admirably, struggling not to cry as he asked if anyone had seen his brother. No one had of course, and Minerva fought back a cold, frightening flare of panic as she pulled Albert out of the crowd and asked, as gently as she could manage, what had happened.

Tearfully Albert had relayed bits and pieces of the conversation in Dumbledore's office, enough for Minerva to understand the horrible, horrible news that the Moody boys had received. She had been too stunned to do much of anything at first, but Tiberius, who she had not even realized was listening, had taken off at a sprint for the portrait hole. She caught up soon enough, and both of them took to searching the corridors, hoping desperately that Alastor was alright, or at least as alright as humanly possible. Geoffery and Donald had been on their way to pay a visit to the victorious Gryffindors, and Tiberius had quite literally run into both of them on the stairs. There had been a hurried explanation, and Geoffery's face had scrunched up like someone had hit him while Donald's went deathly pale.

Back in the present, Donald's face was still pale, and Geoffery had a drawn, tight look about him. Last night had left it's mark on all of them, clear and readable in each and every face.

"How was h-he?" Geoffery asked. Tiberius shrugged, gaze shifting toward the frost-covered window.

"Calmer, I suppose. Not that that's saying much."

Anything compared to the state they had found him in would be considered calmer. Minerva had not exactly expected Alastor to be quite so worked up as his younger brother had been, but neither had she expected him to be so...furious was perhaps the best word, and still did not quite achieve the proper meaning. The Alastor they had found in the bathroom last night had been one who had at last lost the tight control he usually kept over his temper.

"Could've b-been worse," Geoffery said. Donald snorted, the first sound he had made all day apart from breathing.

"Geoffery. He flooded a bathroom. He broke his _hand_."

"I-impressive bit of w-wandless magic, though," Geoffery's tone suggested he was trying to lighten the mood. He was failing miserably though, and Donald looked to be considering strangling the Hufflepuff boy.

"He was upset," Minerva said. "That sort of thing can happen."

"Dunno, I've been u-upset loads of t-times, and I've n-never managed anything l-like that," Geoffery murmured, idly tracing circles on the table with two fingers.

"'S different," Tiberius shook his head, "Completely different."

"W-what's that supposed to mean?" Geoffery demanded, more offended than angry. "You s-saying I'm not as g-good a wizard as Alastor?"

Donald took off his glasses now, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What he's saying is that both your parents are still alive, so you can't really begin to relate, can you? Has nothing to do with who's more powerful than who."

Geoffery blushed now, stammering out an apology. Donald's words had stung them all though, in one way or another, because he was the first to actually acknowledge what had happened. If Donald realized this he did not show it, placing his glasses back on the end of his nose and glaring at his drink as though it had offended him. But Geoffery had, in a way, been sort of right. Alastor had managed to burst all the pipes in the bathroom, and according to Donald two of the high windows had been shattered as well, all seemingly without the use of a wand.

The flooding had actually been the only reason they found him. Minerva had just ventured down the corridor, heart pounding, when she stepped directly into a large puddle. The frigid water had drawn her attention to the door that seemed to be the source of the leak, a door which was in fact locked. She might have started shouting at that point, or she might have just kept casting spells at the door, but either way Tiberius and the other boys arrived soon enough. When no one managed to open the lock themselves, Geoffery suggested they all four hit the door together. Four spells at once broke the charms, water pouring out into the hall at a much faster rate as Donald pushed the door open. And then...and then Tiberius had entered first, only to be thrown across the room with a loud bang, landing with a splash near the opposite wall, swearing spectacularly. Geoffery had rushed to help, and Minerva had slipped past Donald, who was trying to banish the water.

Minerva desperately wished she could forget what had happened next, or else that it had been some awful dream. Alastor had been seated in the freezing water, soaked to the skin and head pressed against his knees, and Minerva had gone to him without any hesitation. She kneeled down beside him, drawing a sharp breath at the sudden chill and reaching out slowly, gently, to turn his face toward her. Determined and worried though she was, Minerva did not forget that Tiberius had just been thrown across the room moments before. Alastor did not resist though, his skin clammy and cold to the touch. For a moment his face flashed with anger, hurt in his eyes. The moment he recognized her though, Alastor had been horrified, his expression betraying his humiliation as his face went crimson. Minerva could have wept then and there, the sight of him heartbreaking. But she knew that the last thing Alastor needed to see just then were more tears. Besides, she had a strict rule against crying in public, this occasion included.

"Still cannae believe you knocked him out," Tiberius' words brought Minerva jolting back to the conversation. She pretended to clean her glasses, just to be sure she had not actually started crying again. Nobody paid too much attention to her though, largely thanks to Tiberius' bitter statement.

"I had to," Donald mumbled, "He hexed you across the room."

"I'd like to point out that I wasn't hexed at all," Minerva replied. She had been utterly furious that Donald had used her as a distraction so he could put a Sleeping Charm on Alastor. Come to think of it, she was still actually a bit furious.

"He needed to sleep," Donald insisted, "Best possible thing for him."

_No_, Minerva thought, _the best possible thing would be to see his father again. Alive. _That option, unfortunately, would not be possible, and Minerva had no idea what in Merlin's name to suggest instead. The only relatives of hers who she could recall passing away had all been elderly, distant relatives who she had barely known to begin with. She had no knowledge of how to relate to someone whose father had just been killed in battle. Tiberius, meanwhile, seemed to have worked himself into a rare temper, and was not quite finished having a go at poor Donald yet.

"Suppose you're pleased that your prediction finally came true."

Donald paled again, gaping across the table at Tiberius. Tense silence fell across the table as the two boys locked eyes, the noise from the rest of the pub falling away for a moment as well. A snowball struck the window with a resounding thud that startled all four of them, Geoffery nearly falling out of his seat in surprise.

"I didn't want this to happen," Donald managed at last.

"Of course you didn't," Minerva said, stomping on Tiberius' foot under the table. "Nobody could have known."

"I should have known," Donald seemed to be oblivious to any other conversation going on around him, guilt evident in his features. "I knew something was coming. I should have been able to see it."

"D-do we even k-know where he was f-fighting?" Geoffery asked. Minerva shook her head, and Geoffery waved his hands between Tiberius and Donald as though this resolved the entire issue. "There. W-what could you h-have done then?"

Donald stayed silent, and Tiberius shifted his scowl toward the window. After a moment or two, Geoffery's wan smile faded, and the table descended back into awkward, unhappy silence. Minerva ran one hand through her hair, sighing and casting a look over her shoulder at the rest of the pub. All the other students were laughing, smiling, enjoying the freedom of the day. None of the rest of them had been touched by tragedy, not yet. Anger sparked then, because this was all horribly unfair. Alastor was supposed to be here today, in Hogsmeade, with her, and they were supposed to go on a proper date. He ought to be here, being his usual stubborn, gruff, utterly impossible self, rather than grieving at home for a father who had died too soon. Minerva could not bear the thought of losing her own father, and could not begin to imagine the pain of the blow Alastor and Albert had suffered. Nobody deserved that.

"Where d-do you suppose h-he is now?" Geoffery seemed to be waiting for Tiberius to answer this particular question. Realizing he would have to speak, Tiberius sighed and shrugged, drumming his fingers on his knee.

"Could be at tha wake I suppose. Doubt tha funeral's today, but they're Catholic, and I donnae know if that means they do anything different."

Minerva was once again struck by the wrongness, the unfairness of the situation. All she could think of was Alastor, the lost, angry Alastor that had been sitting in a flooded bathroom last night. She could not stand the thought of him being alone now. Well, not really alone, strictly speaking, because surely the rest of his family would be there. But being here, pretending to enjoy a trip to Hogsmeade while Alastor buried his father, felt like some sort of abandonment. A sudden, mad idea struck her, and Minerva made up her mind before she spoke. She would not allow herself to be dissuaded, not on this matter.

"We ought to go."

Donald glanced up sharply, eyes narrowed.

"And how might we do that?"

"Well..." Minerva rapidly realized that she probably ought to have given the idea a bit more thought. "We could use the Floo."

"D-don't even know w-where he lives," Geoffery protested, frowning.

"I do," Tiberius said. He alone did not look shocked or concerned, and if Minerva had to guess she would say that Tiberius had been thinking precisely the same thing. "I know tha place."

"Alright...the two of you then," Donald nodded quickly, already leaning away from the table and inspecting the rest of the pub. There was a sudden, dizzy, feeling, because Minerva had been expecting to have to fight for this. Now that acceptance had come so easily, however, her determination was quite set.

"Not all of u-us?" Geoffery looked a bit hurt at the suggestion that he and Donald be left behind. Donald, on the other hand, merely rolled his eyes and continued his calculations.

"Two is easier than four. They can slip away, and we can cover for them."

Geoffery seemed more or less satisfied with this and halfway rose from his seat, looking over top of Donald's head to survey the crowded pub.

"The F-floo in here won't do. Too b-busy."

"Could use tha common room fire," Tiberius suggested.

"No, you couldn't. We've tried. Most of the fireplaces in Hogwarts have been disconnected from the Floo network," Donald explained, "Wartime precaution and all."

Tiberius thumped his fist on the table, sending three drinks skittering dangerously close to the edge. Nobody really seemed to notice. Minerva, however, did make note to ask later where exactly Donald had been trying to reach by Floo.

"What about Gladrags?" Minerva snapped her fingers, feeling quite pleased with herself until Tiberius snickered.

"Now's hardly tha time fer shopping."

"They probably have a Floo in back," Minerva paused long enough to smack Tiberius in the shoulder with the back of her hand. "for shipments and that sort of thing."

Tiberius sobered rather quickly, nodding in understanding.

"Aye. That'd work."

A flicker of anticipation followed the words, because Merlin this might actually work. Firstly though, they had to actually reach Gladrags, more or less unnoticed, and somehow slip into the back room, once again unnoticed. Unnoticed seemed to be the primary key to the plan.

"We'll have to make sure no one follows us..."

"Oh, w-we'll take care of t-that," Geoffery grinned, rolling up his sleeves. "Won't we, Don?"

"We'd be honored, in fact," Donald tilted his head toward Geoffery in agreement, taking his glasses off and tucking them in the pocket of his coat. "Though we do ask that you deliver our sincerest condolences to Alastor, and his family."

"Of course," Minerva said, "Did you know Mr. Moody."

Geoffery shook his head, rising from his seat.

"N-never met the m-man."

"But if he's much like Alastor," Donald pushed his chair back, wood grating beneath the sudden shift, "I'd wager the world has suffered a great and terrible loss."

"Half a moment," Tiberius himself stood now, ducking a bit so as not to hit his head on the stairs. "How exactly are you two planning ta distract a pub full of people?"

"Come now, Tiberius," Donald rolled his sleeves as he stepped away from the table, "How does one usually create chaos in a crowded pub?"

Minerva's eyes widened as the meaning of Donald's words sank in. As a prefect, she probably ought to stop whatever was about to happen. As a best friend on an important mission, she intended to do just the opposite.

"Good luck then."

"Thank y-you kindly," Geoffery smiled, "And good luck t-to you t-too."

Minerva hastily rose to her feet, wrapping her scarf around her neck as Donald levitated his still-full drink into the air. With infinite precision, Donald manage to navigate the glass across the room, emptying the contents over the head of a seventh year Hufflepuff. Unsurprisingly, the seventh year boy did not at all appreciate this, and responded by turning and punching the first person who looked to be holding a drink. The brawl expanded in seconds, and Donald and Geoffery raced away to join the fray, dodging blows and creating as much confusion as possible. Minerva watched for a moment, transfixed at the sight and still fighting the temptation to intervene. Then Tiberius stepped past her, taking her hand and tugging her along after him. Somehow they managed to pass through the crowd unscathed, escaping into the snowy streets with the rest of the crowd. Other students had taken the chance to run as well, avoiding the fight and the detentions that were almost certain to result. Minerva and Tiberius lingered in the mass of students for a moment before slipping away, slowing to a walk as they neared Gladrags Wizard Wears. With the distraction in place, Minerva drew in a deep breath of chill November air, sincerely hoping that the next phase of the plan went just as smoothly.


	13. Taking the Long Way

A/N - For the record, some of the locations mentioned in this chapter are real, and some are not. For instance, Briarwood Road is in fact a real street which one might find if visiting Clapham in South London. St. Sebastian's, however, does not exist, so don't go looking for it, alright? Also, a few quotes used toward the end of this chapter are in fact rather accurate approximations of things one might hear at a Catholic funeral (which is part of the reason this chapter took so long - I had to wait for my dear relatives to call back with this information). Now, on to reading! (And hopefully the next chapter won't take nearly so long!)

* * *

After the thick, heavy warmth inside The Three Broomsticks, the chill of the street was shocking, snow swirling on the breeze and each breath visible. Minerva's fingers had just begun to ache with the cold when they neared the edge of Gladrags, and she was hastily calculating and recalculating and reassuring herself that this was a good idea. She and Tiberius would go to London, because Alastor needed them and it was the right thing to do. Well, admittedly, Alastor would vehemently deny needing anybody, but Minerva could at least hope. A tug on her sleeve brought her to a halt, and Minerva turned to face Tiberius. Snowflakes clung to his curly hair, and he looked to be trying not to frown outright.

"They're watching us," he leaned down and whispered, his breath warm against her cheek. With one hand Tiberius pointed back toward The Three Broomsticks and the growing scene outside. With a tilt of his head, however, he indicated the path ahead.

Minerva glanced over her shoulder, stomach plummeting as she realized that the door to Gladrags was quite effectively blocked. A whole crowd of Slytherin boys had gathered in front of the building, because luck was a horrible and tricky thing. Rosier and Lestrange and another, blond boy had their faces pressed to the window, watching the shoppers inside. Tom Riddle stood apart as usual, watching the other boys with casual disinterest. Every few seconds his gaze flickered over to the opposite side of the street, where three Hufflepuff girls were trying to catch his attention.

"We can just walk past them," Minerva said. "We've not done anything wrong."

The unspoken _"Yet"_ hung between them for a moment, and Minerva pushed back the nagging voice in the back of her mind that kept shouting words like "expelled."

"I donnae think they'd let us go quietly," Tiberius pointed out, "Not after tha match yesterday."

In all the chaos of last night, all thoughts of the Quidditch victory had been more or less forgotten. No overt incidents had occurred yet, but Minerva knew that Tiberius was probably quite right. The Slytherins would probably not be especially kind to any Gryffindors, much less Quidditch players. Not to mention, if Minerva and Tiberius were going to reach London, they needed to avoid being sent back to the castle.

Tom halfway smiled at something Rosier said, his eyes meeting Minerva's for the first time. The almost-smile stayed in place without ever really reaching his eyes, and Minerva resisted the urge to look away. Plenty of girls at school fancied Tom Riddle, and for good reason. He was smart and handsome, very polite, the picture of eloquence, or so his reputation suggested. But Minerva had never been altogether comfortable around Tom. She had never really known why, and Augusta had for years teased her mercilessly and claimed that Minerva had a crush on the younger boy. Whatever the reason, Minerva avoided Tom if she had the chance. Unfortunately, just now did not seem to be one of those occasions, and Minerva braced herself and did her best not to look as guilty as she felt. Tom's attention shifted though, back to the girls across the street, and Minerva released a breath she had not realized she had been holding. The Hufflepuff girls giggled and squealed, pleased that their efforts had finally succeeded.

"What about now, while they're distracted?" Minerva asked.

"Not exactly as distracted as I'd like," Tiberius said hesitantly, frown evident in his voice.

"We haven't exactly got all day to wait," Minerva pointed out. The crowd outside the Three Broomsticks had by this point grown quite large, and several teachers seemed to have joined the students. The distraction was beginning to run out.

"Alright then," Tiberius sighed, "After you."

Striding forward through the snow, nerves on edge, Minerva counted her paces, trying to keep her eyes away from Tom and the Slytherin boys around the door. All she had to do was slip past them, and that ought to be easy enough. Though it would be easier if she were not feeling quite so paranoid at the moment. Minerva would have sworn that every eye on the street was watching her and Tiberius make their way towards Gladrags. Any moment now, Professor Dumbledore would appear, wearing a frown and waving them back up to the castle. None of the Slytherins seemed to be paying attention to anyone but the Hufflepuff girls, not even Tom, and Minerva nearly convinced herself that this whole, mad plan would actually work. Then a hand seized the edge of her coat, and Minerva instead nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Look who it is, Rosie."

Minerva pulled her arm free, turning on her heels and sincerely hoping no one could hear her heart hammering in her chest. Tiberius stepped into place beside her, hands buried in his pockets and somewhere between shocked and scowling.

"We donnae want any trouble."

But the assailants were not Slytherins, much to Minerva's surprise, nor were they boys. In fact, two Ravenclaw girls stood side by side, both of them wearing matching frowns. Rosie Priest, for once, did not seem to be glaring at Tiberius, her blond hair hidden beneath a wool cap. She and Bell McKinnon both had aimed their scowls quite pointedly at Minerva, much to her discomfort.

"Afternoon," Minerva smiled weakly. "Tiberius and I were just..."

"Sneaking away from the pub?" Bell asked.

"Oh yes, definitely sneaking," Minerva said dryly, "And we figured walking down the middle of the street was the best way to sneak, of course."

"We saw you," Rosie's eyes narrowed.

This of course did nothing to ease the paranoid feeling that had been steadily spreading for some time now, and Minerva fought back the cold tendrils creeping up her spine. She had a distinct feeling that the scene had earned the attention of the Slytherin boys, because Minerva would have sworn that Tom Riddle was watching her.

"Where's Alastor?" Bell asked, eyes hard and accusing. Minerva glanced up at Tiberius, momentarily taken aback, because she certainly had not been expecting that question. She probably should have, given the fact that Bell had been quite upset with Minerva for the past week, but still.

"He's...we're going to meet him later, actually," Minerva murmured, gesturing vaguely over her shoulder. She was technically telling the truth, at least, because if all went according to plan she and Tiberius would be meeting up with Alastor later. Just not anyplace in Hogsmeade.

"And does he know about you two?" Bell demanded, voice rising. The sudden increase in volume sent the words echoing over the snowy street, and if the Slytherins had not been listening before they certainly were now. The Hufflepuff girls probably were too, for that matter. Merlin, but this was beginning to get out of hand. Too busy worrying about the growing scene, Minerva failed to properly understand what Bell had been asking.

"What about us?" Minerva asked, motioning for Bell to keep her voice down. Somehow she doubted the other girl would actually listen, but she supposed she might as well make the effort.

"Isn't that lovely," Bell snorted, casting a look toward Rosie beside her, "Stealing other peoples' boyfriends isn't good enough for her. She's got to sneak around with his best friend too."

Minerva felt her mouth drop open in shock, and Tiberius, who had been silent up until this point, made a faintly strangled noise beside her. Bell thought that...oh, Merlin. Her face went hot, and Minerva fought not to look up at Tiberius, lest she inadvertently confirm Bell's suspicions.

"Merlin, us? Think there's been a misunderstanding," Tiberius recovered first, face scarlet as he shook his head furiously.

"Nobody was asking you, Kirk. No sense denying what everyone can see," Rosie spat.

"If that's what you're seeing, you're blind and mad," Tiberius countered. "Got it all wrong."

"Oh, I'm sure," Rosie rolled her eyes.

"Unbelievable," Tiberius growled. "Mind your own ruddy business, Priest."

Rosie's eyes flashed dangerously, and she looked tempted to pull her wand. Tiberius, too, seemed utterly furious. The arguing and insults continued between the pair of them, almost drowning out Bell's next words.

"I'll tell him, you know. I won't let you do that to Alastor."

"You-" Minerva paused, taking a deep breath in an effort to keep from saying too rash or unladylike, "are utterly mental."

"Really?" Bell snorted, "Why don't you explain then?"

Minerva scowled furiously overtop her glasses, and for a moment the four of them glowered at each other, the air crackling and tight with tension and snow swirling around them. Bell had every right to be upset, Minerva knew that perfectly well. She simply had not expected the Ravenclaw girl to be quite so vindictive. Clearly she had made a serious underestimation there. Only one possible option remained now, much as Minerva hated to have to use it.

"We're going to meet him," Minerva hissed, "in London."

Bell and Rosie both looked momentarily taken aback, and Minerva kept talking before either of them could raise any sort of alarm.

"His father died. We're going to the funeral."

Silence fell, and the tension melted as quickly as the scowl slipped off Bell's face. Rosie's frown lingered though, the blond girl unsurprisingly unconvinced.

"How do we know that's true?"

"That really seem like tha sort of thing ta lie about?" Tiberius asked. He had straightened up to his full height, his usual intimidation tactic.

"Suppose not," Rosie admitted after a moment's thought, her gaze falling to the street.

Bell, meanwhile, looked to be on the verge of tears.

"I...I didn't know."

"Nobody did," Tiberius said gruffly.

"Or does," Minerva said, "So we'd appreciate it if you kept all that quiet."

"Why should we?" Rosie asked. "Not like we owe any of you lot any favors."

Panic struck, ice cold and more bitter than the freezing wind, because Minerva knew any second now Rosie would turn and shout for a professor, and the plan would be ruined. However, Bell spoke up, words shocking everyone.

"Of course."

"Bell, we-" Rosie started to protest, but Bell cut her off with a wave of her hand.

"You're going to London?"

"That's the general idea," Minerva said.

"Tell him...that I'm very sorry then," Bell said.

"We will," Tiberius nodded.

"Good," Bell sighed, leaning to look past Minerva. "Expect you'll be needing a distraction then?"

"I...well..." Minerva glanced up at Tiberius, who looked just as surprised as she felt. "It'd be rather nice."

"We can do that then," Bell said, ignoring Rosie's muttered protests. "But, it's for Alastor. I still don't like you very much. Either of you."

"And that's perfectly fine," Minerva said hurriedly. She had never suffered any sort of delusions about being friends with Bell McKinnon. "I don't mind."

"Neither do I," Tiberius agreed.

"Alright," Bell seemed satisfied with this arrangement. "We can give you a few minutes. The rest is up to you."

"Thank you," Minerva murmured, wishing the words were not quite so difficult to say. Bell did not respond, just nodded tightly and brushed past Minerva, fixing a broad smile on her face as she moved. Rosie followed a step or two behind, decisively unenthusiastic about all this.

"What now?" Tiberius asked under his breath. Bell and Rosie had, much to the Hufflepuff girls' horror, situated themselves in the center of the group of Slytherin boys. Rosier and Lestrange and the blond boy pulled their faces away from the window, and even Tom Riddle seemed to have been successfully distracted.

"Through the back," Minerva said, seizing hold of Tiberius wrist and moving before he had a chance to protest. Bell had only promised a few minutes, after all. The alley between the shops was covered in snow and a thick layer of ice, and Minerva would have slipped and fallen if Tiberius had not caught her by the elbow and kept her upright. Her heart was racing again, from anticipation rather than panic this time, frozen fingers fumbling at the backdoor to Gladrags before she remembered her wand.

"_Alohomora_."

The lock opened with a click and the door swung inward, a wave of blessed heat rolling out to greet them. Minerva hurried inside, Tiberius rushing past her and locking the door to the main part of the shop. Having the clerk walk in just now would rather spoil the plan. Crates and boxes lined the walls, unpacked merchandise bearing stamps from France and London. Several racks of new robes occupied the space in the middle of the floor, forcing Minerva to struggle through the heavy mass of fabric in her effort to reach the far side of the room. There on the opposite wall waited the fireplace, crackling and glowing, heating the stockroom to an almost uncomfortable level, at least for someone wearing a scarf and heavy coat.

"This is it, I suppose," Tiberius said. The snow in his hair had melted, leaving his curls damp and glistening in the firelight.

"You haven't got to..." Minerva trailed off, biting her lip and casting a worried glance toward Tiberius. "If you...we'll probably get into horrible trouble for this."

"We'll probably be expelled," Tiberius snorted.

"That's not exactly helping," Minerva muttered.

Silence, for a moment or two, as both of them considered the repercussions of this mad scheme. Minerva felt a bit sick at the thought of being expelled, and her parents would be furious. The briefest memory of Alastor, however, the miserable, furious Alastor who they had found in that bathroom last night, was all that was required to strengthen her resolve.

"You're going," Tiberius did not even bother to ask, merely stated what Minerva had a feeling was evident on her face.

"Of course."

"Then I'm going with you," Tiberius said matter of factly.

He reached out, taking a jar off the mantle and setting the lid aside. Silvery powder glittered in the firelight, orange and red flickering in turn.

"You sure you know the place?" Minerva asked, tugging her coat tighter around her.

"Course," Tiberius said, though his frown did not quite support this statement. "Number five, Briarwood Road, London."

"Briarwood Road," Minerva repeated, taking a handful of Floo powder. "Right. Ready then?"

"Ladies first," Tiberius gave a mock bow, tone light, as though he were allowing her to enter a classroom first rather than allowing her to Floo to London illegally. Minerva pushed that particular thought to the back of her mind and swallowed hard, tossing the Floo powder into the fire. The flames crackled, shifting from orange to emerald green, and Minerva stepped inside.

"Number five, Briarwood Road!" she shouted, ignoring the dizzy press and swirl of soot around her as the magic activated. She shut her eyes, only opening them again when she felt herself falling forward. She tumbled out of the fireplace, landing on a large rug. Deciding she ought to move out of the way before Tiberius came through the Floor and fell on top of her, Minerva pushed herself to her feet, dusting her off her knees.

She found herself standing in the middle of a sitting room, moving pictures studying her from the walls and a very shocked elderly woman watching her from her seat in an armchair, teacup frozen halfway to her mouth. The woman and Minerva gaped at each other for a moment or two, because really Minerva had no idea what in Merlin's name someone ought to say in this situation. Fortunately, the fire flared green again and Tiberius stepped through.

"Oh, rubbish," Tiberius' eyes fell on the elderly woman, and he looked as though he would have much rather said a much ruder word.

"Can I help you dears?" the woman sounded impressively calm for someone who had just had their tea interrupted by two Hogwarts students appearing through the Floo.

"Is this London?" Tiberius blurted out, clapping his hand over his mouth.

"Well...yes. So far as I know," the woman frowned up at Tiberius, "Merlin's beard, lad, how tall are you?"

"I cannae say, I think I've grown again since September, but then I was-"

"We...this isn't, by any chance, the Moody residence?" Minerva asked, interrupting Tiberius and struggling to keep from panicking too entirely much.

"Moody?" the woman shook her head, pointing one wrinkled hand to her right. "No, they live next door."

"I was close," Tiberius shrugged, grinning. Minerva glowered at him, and his grin abruptly vanished. "Sorry ta interrupt, Mrs..."

"Jorkins. And it's quite alright really. Merlin knows I could do with a bit of excitement now and then."

Minerva felt rather confident that if a couple of strangers ever tumbled through her fireplace, she would not be nearly so cheerful.

"We really are sorry though."

"If you don't mind my asking," Mrs. Jorkins went on as though Minerva had not spoken, "Isn't school still in term?"

"Ah...yes," Tiberius admitted, running a hand through his hair. "Tis, in fact."

"And yet you're both in London," Mrs. Jorkins raised an eyebrow, waiting for the explanation.

"We're...we're friends of Alastor," Minerva said. "We came for-"

"Oh, the funeral," Mrs. Jorkins interrupted this time, not that Minerva particularly minded. "Awful shame that is. Terribly sad, for the boys and of course their poor mother."

"Yes," Minerva breathed, not expecting the sudden tightness in her chest. "Yes, it is."

"And what lovely friends you are, to come all this way," Mrs. Jorkins smiled for a moment, then looked over her shoulder, glancing out the window. "But I don't think they're back yet."

Minerva resisted the urge to stomp her foot in frustration.

"You mean they've already gone?"

"Oh yes dear, they've all gone to the church. Awfully quick, if you ask me, but I suppose they wanted to have it all over and done with," Mrs. Jorkins said matter of factly.

"Do you know where they've gone?" Tiberius asked.

"Just to Saint Sebastian's, down the street," Mrs. Jorkins indicated the opposite direction than the one she had pointed out earlier.

"They'll still be there, then?" Minerva asked hurriedly, stumbling around an ottoman in her hurry to move towards the door. Mrs. Jorkins merely nodded, taking another drink of tea, as though students tumbling through her fireplace and asking direction were the most normal thing in the world.

"I suspect so."

"We'll just be going then," Tiberius said, "Sorry again ta have bothered you."

"No trouble at all!" Mrs. Jorkins replied. Her voice barely reached the hall, and if the woman said anything else, Minerva failed to hear her. After two false turns that lead her into a yellow kitchen and another, plush-filled sitting room, Minerva finally managed to locate the entrance hall, Tiberius close on her heels.

The door opened easily, frigid wind greeting them with a swirl of snow.

"And here I'd just begun ta get warm," Tiberius grumbled, closing the door behind him. Minerva pulled her scarf tighter and glared at him overtop of her glasses.

"You," she stuffed her hands deeper into her coat pockets, "said you knew where to go."

"I was almost right," Tiberius feigned offense. "Only off by a house."

"We could've ended up in the wrong city!" Minerva replied, pausing on the sidewalk to regain her bearings. Fortunately, determining the direction of the church was simple enough, a tall spire jutting up overtop of the surrounding houses.

"Well, we dinnae," Tiberius grumbled. "And look, there's tha church. No harm done."

"Suppose not," Minerva muttered, striding off toward the spire without another word. Tiberius fell into step beside her, long strides cut short to keep pace with hers. Neither of them spoke, the crunch of footsteps in the snow breaking the silence with every step. The snow had begun to fall heavier now, passing from grey skies to white and grey earth, and Minerva could never recall seeing such a bleak day in her entire life. The houses all lay silent and still, empty windows watching like dark eyes. Minerva had yet to shake the paranoid feeling, the nagging, creeping sensation along the back of her neck that suggested someone really was watching. Not to mention she was still trying not to be upset with Tiberius, and she was worried about Alastor, and rather convinced by this point that she was going to be thrown out of school. Donald and Geoffery had probably been caught by now, at least as participants in the fight if not as the instigators. Then of course, there was Tom Riddle, surely he had seen something, or perhaps Bell and Rosie had decided to inform a professor about the unapproved field trip Minerva and Tiberius had taken.

"Back in Hogsmeade...Bell," Minerva spoke before she had properly sorted out her thoughts, and thus was not entirely surprised when Tiberius gave her a confused look. "About what she said. What she and Rosie said."

"Oh. About me and you?" Tiberius guessed. His hair had begun to turn white beneath all the snow, and Minerva suspected hers looked much the same. Snowflakes kept sticking to her glasses and melting, leaving the world distorted and puddle-shaped. "What about it?"

"Well...I...I don't know. I just feel like...something should be said about it, is all," Minerva sighed. Really she had no idea what to say, and perhaps all her mixed emotions about today were simply choosing that particular incident to react over.

"What's ta say, really?" Tiberius shrugged, "They're mental and we both know it."

"Yes," Minerva agreed, "I'd certainly say so."

"Besides. You're like one of my sisters, and Alastor would murder me in my sleep," Tiberius laughed, "Not exactly a grand idea in any way."

Minerva could not help but laugh, and laughing felt good, like a warm breeze stirring and pushing away the cold.

"Perhaps Rosie's just jealous."

"Merlin, donnae joke about things like that," Tiberius looked utterly horrified at the very thought. "Worse than that mad Umbridge girl, she is."

The fact that Dolores Umbridge had kept a longstanding and rather obvious crush on Tiberius had been an object of humor for Alastor and Minerva for years. Thus far into sixth year, she seemed to have given up, but Minerva guessed that soon enough she would surface again. Dolores was persistent, if nothing else.

"At least of everything else this year, you've not had to deal with her," Minerva said.

"I think I'd take her, rather than have let Gabriel be petrified, or Mr. Moody..." Tiberius frowned, waving a hand through the air and shaking his head. "There's always a lesser of two evils."

"We don't seem to be encountering many 'lessers' these days," Minerva replied.

"No," Tiberius shook his head, "Not really."

The lane ended, the last houses standing like old guardians keeping watch. The church spire had grown into a huge, stone cathedral, windows glinting in the weak sunlight. Snow clung to the arched rooftops and rafters, and somewhere high overhead bells began to echo, slow and heavy. A long, black fence enclosed the church and the yard behind, a yard which Minerva realized must contain the cemetery. Dark shapes in black robes moved about beyond the fence, taller than the gravestones and stark against the white landscape.

"Ready?" Tiberius asked. He himself did not look to be incredibly ready, but his face was set, and he had had straightened up to full height again, hands at his side and shoulders squared. The posture made him look suddenly older, and with his snow-covered hair Minerva felt as though she were looking at a future Tiberius, one decades away and decades more grave than the boy she now knew. Minerva steeled herself as well, willing back the tightness in her throat and the ache in her chest. She needed to be strong just now. Hastily she cleaned her glasses one last time, though the act was probably in vain as snow spotted the lenses once more.

"Close enough," Minerva murmured, forcing a smile she did not at all feel.

Tiberius nodded, smiling sadly again before his expression closed once more. Then the pair of them were crossing the street, church bells echoing overhead and breath heavy in the air as they neared the long metal fence. Minerva was vaguely aware that her fingers were frozen, that her hair was probably a mess from all this wind and snow. More importantly, as they neared the fence, she realized that she and Tiberius looked horribly out of place.

"Merlin, we're a bit casual for this occasion, aren't we?" Minerva said, managing to sound calmer than she felt.

"Suppose we are," Tiberius replied. "Fix us up then?"

Minerva drew her wand, concentrating for a moment and fixing the proper image in her mind before transfiguring Tiberius' coat into a set of black robes. Not exactly dress robes, but nothing too shabby either, and she had managed to keep the length almost right, save for being a bit short above his ankles. Leaving Tiberius to situate himself and make any adjustments, Minerva transfigured her own coat with a bit more ease. The wind was not quite so biting with the robes swirling around her ankles, so that at least was a nice improvement.

"Everything look right?" she asked, turning in a slow circle. Tiberius tugged at his own robes one final time before nodding.

"Just right."

The fence, Minerva discovered, had no gate, at least not on this side of the church. She thought that there might have been one on the opposite side, but the walk was too long to be making guesses like that. Fortunately, the figures seemed to be gathered near the back corner of the churchyard, fairly close to the fence. Gravestones jutted up through the snow, broken, misshaped teeth in a white mouth, and more than a few stone angels towered over the graves. Since Minerva had no intention of leaping over a fence into the middle of a funeral, she would simply have to settle for standing as close as possible. Perhaps, with any luck, Alastor would see them.

As they drew nearer, Minerva began to make out words on the wind, deep and droning. Someone, the priest, she supposed, was going on about death and dying, about sacrifice, and something about war too. All the words were fragmented though, snatches of sentences that made no sense, jumbled like puzzle pieces. No one noticed Minerva and Tiberius stop outside the fence. In fact, no one looked to have moved for some time, black robes coated in a thin layer of snow. All the world had fallen silent, and had Minerva not known better she would have thought that a cluster of statues stood among the graves. None of the faces seemed especially familiar, even from this close distance. The crowd in fact seemed smaller than Minerva had expected. Among all the robed wizards and witches, however, one couple looked rather out of place. They were both facing away, toward the grave, posture stiff and unmoving as everyone else's. The man wore an old army uniform, one that Minerva had only ever seen in pictures books about the Muggle armies from the last war. His hair was white, dazzling in the weak sunlight. Beside him, his wife wore a neat black dress, her own short grey hair curled tightly, and she looked to be leaning against the old soldier for support. Minerva had a suspicion that they were Alastor's muggle grandparents, which meant that they were, at present, burying their son. The thought brought a sting of tears to the back of her eyes, and Minerva hastily moved on in her survey of the funeral.

At the edge of the crowd, just past the old soldier and his wife, stood Alastor himself. The wind ruffled his hair, and even from behind he looked horribly uncomfortable in his black robes. His hands were clasped behind his back, closing into fists every few seconds, and he kept shifting his weight restlessly despite the fact everyone else remained quite still. Tiberius leaned forward to brace his hands against the fence and drew back abruptly as magic rippled through the air and pushed him away. Minerva was instantly quite glad she had not tried to jump the fence earlier.

The priest moved at the front of the crowd, motioning over what Minerva guessed to be the grave. He was speaking again, words muffled but this time Minerva understood why. The churchyard was protected, warded against those who would intrude and designed to keep safe those who had passed on. The gate would have provided the only entrance, and Minerva guessed that charms had been placed over that as well. Tiberius settled with shoving his hands deep into his pockets, and finally the the priest's voice carried all the way out to the sidewalk.

"...so may Thy mercy unite him above to the choirs of angels. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

"Amen" echoed out over the yard, solemn and somber as the stone angels watching from atop the tombs. The church bells had long stopped, noise fading with the breeze, and the sound of the prayer had broken the silence at last. The priest raised his hands one final time, making the sign of the cross in front of him.

"May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace."

The sign passed through the crowd, mimicked by most all the mourners, and Minerva found herself doing the same. Tiberius, beside her, crossed himself as well. A series of distant, muffled pops, and the ripple of magic ended the service. Minerva suspected the noise had been much louder within the churchyard, but no one so much as flinched. Slowly the mourners began to leave, led by the priest, his shadow stretching long overtop of the snow. The grave, moments ago a dark, gaping hole in the white earth, had closed, a bare patch of earth ringed by snow. Minerva stayed in place, watching as the crowd walked back toward the gate, trudging silently through the churchyard. Alastor finally turned, his face solemn, and he walked with his shoulders bowed, as though the struggling to keep the ghosts from pulling him back. Albert trailed along behind him, walking beside a short, slender woman that must have been Alastor's mother. Her face was hidden beneath a large handkerchief, and Albert lead her out of the path of the graves as best he could. Minerva watched them go, determined that she would not cry, no matter how heartbreaking the scene might be. One by one, all the mourners vanished through the gate, until the churchyard stood empty once more, only stone angels keeping watch in the falling snow.


	14. Requiem

A/N - Two papers (Lit and History, to be exact), a brief extortion (a friend of mine withheld the next Percy Jackson book from me until such time as I finished, no joke), and a long battle with the internet later (the file, it would not load!), I finally come bearing the next chapter! Also, the songs mentioned/used in this chapter are quite real, and if you'd like the title and artist I'm happy to provide (just not in the A/N, cause spoilers, they are no fun ;)). Bonus points to you if you can in fact guess the songs.

Reviews, as always, are loved and appreciated. Thoughts/opinions on the story so far? I'm always happy to hear them. =)

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_"Dying is not romantic, and death is not a game which will soon be over... Death is not anything... death is not... It's the absence of presence, nothing more... the endless time of never coming back... a gap you can't see, and when the wind blows through it, it makes not sound..." - Tom Stoppard_

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The funeral party filed out onto the main street, a steady stream of moving shadows, black robes swirling in the wind. Nobody paid any mind to Minerva as she hurriedly slipped into the back, although Tiberius did earn a look or two. Not much could be done about his height though, and Tiberius settled for slumping as best be could and staying behind Minerva. The walk back up the street felt infinitely colder than the trip to the church had been, the snow having already covered the footprints in the sidewalk. The sun had begun to set over the rooftops, casting the world into orange haze and twilight. Minerva had not until that moment realized how late the day had grown. The Hogsmeade visit had almost certainly ended by now, and unless Donald and Geoffery had created an impressive cover story, someone had likely noticed the absence of two Gryffindor prefects. Minerva pushed that particular thought to the back of her mind, ignoring the sick, creeping worry about the excellent possibility of being expelled. The consequences for this unapproved trip to London were unavoidable, and at this point there was no sense in making an issue over the matter. Not anymore, at least. Finally they passed the Jorkins house, which had fallen as dark as the rest of the street, curtains pulled tight. The next home on the street, then, belonged to the Moodys.

Minerva had not been paying a great deal of attention to the houses along Briarwood Road at any point, and she had merely assumed that most of the homes belonged to wizards. Still, she was a bit surprised that Alastor's house looked quite so ordinary. Two floors and wide windows, a roof that seemed to have been damaged and never properly repaired. No fence separated the yard from the sidewalk, and really not much of a yard existed anyway, just a stretch of grass smothered beneath the snow. Beside the house stood a smaller building, too large to be a shed, guarded in front by a muggle car and another, indeterminable shape. The snow seemed to have piled heaviest around the building, and no path had been cleared to reach it.

The one path that did exist through the snow led straight from the sidewalk to the doorstep. The funeral party had already begun to enter the house, gradually beginning to speak again in hushed tones. Minerva caught sight of Alastor entering, his hair rather noticeable in the sea of black robes, but he quickly disappeared into the house. Shivering now, fingers and toes well past frozen, Minerva wished the line would hurry up and move on.

Minerva and Tiberius entered last, the door shutting behind Tiberius heels' with a dull boom. Instantly the biting wind vanished, and the cold began to slip away, but the house itself felt stiff and somber. Minerva felt as though she had entered the room of a dying man, rather than the house of one who had already died. She and Tiberius changed their robes back into coats, as the majority of the funeral party seemed to have deposited their heavy robes on a long rack in the entrance hall. A few pictures hung on the walls, too, family photos by the looks of them. Some were wizarding pictures, such as the one where a much-younger Alastor waved from his seat high on a tree-branch, Albert doing his best to climb up and join him. Others simply stared frozen, muggle portraits of families and faces that Minerva did not recognize. One photo seemed to be missing from, a noticeable gap in the wall.

"What do you suppose went here?" Minerva asked, keeping her voice low.

"Suspect this did," Tiberius murmured. Minerva turned to find Tiberius holding a picture frame, frowning down at the portrait on the other side. After a moment, his frown faded to a sad sort of look, and Tiberius passed the picture to Minerva's outstretched hand.

Another moving picture, this time a close-up of a man in military robes, a cap perched at an angle atop his head. The man managed to look serious for a few seconds before giving a salute and grinning broadly, his cap in danger of falling off entirely. The photo itself was black and white, and the man's hair had been cropped short, but the resemblance to Alastor was unmistakeable.

"Where did you get this?" Minerva glanced over her shoulder, hurriedly passing the portrait back into Tiberius' hands. Tiberius fumbled for a moment, and for a brief, terrifying second he nearly dropped the picture entirely.

"Twas on the desk," Tiberius said, "Just looked sort of out of place."

"Put it back then," Minerva replied, motioning for good measure.

Tiberius did, quickly sliding the picture back behind a a vase, presumably where he had found the thing in the first place. Thankfully, by this point the rest of the guests had moved on deeper into the house, leaving Minerva and Tiberius alone in the hall.

"We ought to go find Alastor," Minerva said.

"Lead the way," Tiberius halfway smiled, and would have halfway bowed had Minerva not shot him a warning look.

A single staircase led upward to a landing and another set of stairs, the top of which vanished into shadow. To the left of the hall lay a parlor filled with oddly shaped black boxes and old, comfortable looking chairs. The path directly ahead had been blocked by two wizards, who looked to be in deep discussion. Minerva had no intention of interrupting and drawing more attention to herself and Tiberius than was really necessary, which left only one possible route. Opposite the parlor seemed to be an empty dining room, and if Minerva was not mistaken, another doorway.

"Let's try through here."

Minerva walked away before Tiberius actually replied, but his footsteps sounded on the wooden floor close behind hers. The dining room was darker than the hall, light from the doorway on one wall falling over the long table in a single square of gold. However, unlike Minerva had first supposed, the room was not entirely empty. A man stood at the end of the square of light, brown haired and broad shouldered. Minerva halted immediately, and Tiberius moved to stand beside her as the man tilted his head in their direction.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" the man said, staring vacantly out of the window. Minerva guessed the drink he currently held was not his first, if the fact that the curtains were closed was any indication.

"Er...suppose," Tiberius eyed the man warily. "If you like snow."

"Snow's a grand thing," the man declared. "Makes 'em easy to spot."

"Makes who easy to spot?" Minerva frowned. She and Tiberius were the only others in the room, and apparently for good reason.

"The enemy," the answer came in a whisper, the man giving them both a meaningful look as though this was of grave importance.

"Sir, I donnae think there's any...any enemies here," Tiberius said. He had begun edging his way around the table toward the next doorway, tugging on Minerva's sleeve as he did.

"Just what they want you to think," the man grumbled, taking another drink. "Constant vigilance, that's what keeps you alive."

Minerva and Tiberius exchanged a long look, and were about to make a hasty retreat toward one door or another when a shadow fell across the room, blocking out a person-shaped section of the light.

"Uncle Declan, Grandda wants you to..." Alastor leaned around the doorway, gesturing back over his shoulder with one hand. He did not appear to have noticed Tiberius or Minerva, his eyes narrowing instead on the man standing in front of the window. The man, who Minerva assumed to be "Uncle Declan" had turned now, unsteady on his feet and nearly stumbling. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Not that much," Declan snorted. "Enough to take the edge off. Got to be on guard, just like I was telling them."

"Telling who?" Alastor rolled his eyes. He glanced in the direction his uncle indicated, looking as though he expected to see nothing at all and plainly annoyed. When he caught sight of first Minerva, then Tiberius, however, he stiffened, hand tightening its grip around the doorframe. "How did you...what..."

"Thought we might pay you a visit, under the circumstances," Minerva said.

"Pay our respects and all," Tiberius agreed, "Be here for emotional support, that sort of thing."

Alastor scowled, on the verge of protesting the need for any sort of support, emotional or otherwise. Then a he sighed, the scowl fading into the saddest smile Minerva had ever seen. She wanted to dash across the room and hug him, but did not know how well he would react to that just now and instead stayed in place.

"Come on then," Alastor waved for them to join him, "Might as well stand around in the light with everyone else."

Minerva cast one last look at Declan, who had once again turned towards the curtains, then hurried to Alastor's side. She settled for squeezing his hand rather than an outright hug, and was not entirely surprised when he did not let go.

"How in Merlin's name did you get here?" Alastor whispered.

The doorway turned out to lead into a kitchen, all black and white and tile. Several pots on the stove stirred themselves, and a few trays of food floated among clustered groups of guests. Alastor had abandoned his dress robes, though he looked no less uncomfortable in his muggle dress shirt and trousers. In proper light, Alastor looked tired and worn, and Minerva had a rather distinct feeling that without the magical help, he would not have slept at all last night.

"Came through tha Floo," Tiberius pointed vaguely in the direction of another crowd of witches and wizards. The fireplace did not seem to be in that general area, because Alastor looked plainly confused. "Well, alright, we ended up at tha neighbor's."

"Thanks to Tiberius' wonderful directions," Minerva muttered.

"What, the Jorkins place?" Alastor asked. "Sure they're probably going to be thrilled about that."

"She seemed rather nice, actually. All things considered," Minerva said. Alastor eyed her warily, as though waiting for the part where the joke ended.

"Must have been a different Mrs. Jorkins," Alastor grumbled at last. "Merlin knows she doesn't care for Albert or me."

Seeming to recall genuine sympathy from the elderly Mrs. Jorkins, Minerva had some trouble believing Alastor on the matter.

"We just won't mention it again then, how's that?" Minerva suggested.

"Fine, yeah. But how...where did you Floo from?" Alastor dropped his voice as two witches passed, offering a wave and no hint of a smile in their direction.

"Tis a Hogsmeade weekend, if you recall..." Tiberius said.

"Donald and Geoffery helped. They said to tell you...ah...that they're very sorry," Minerva faltered over the words as Alastor's face darkened, and he nodded curtly but said nothing in response. "Technically, Bell and Rosie helped too."

"Bell? Oh...I thought...she..." Alastor frowned, running a hand through his hair.

"Said she was quite sorry too," Tiberius interrupted, sparing Minerva from an awkward explanation. Alastor did not seem to be any more pleased that Bell had expressed sympathy as well, and Minerva wondered when exactly he would realize sympathy was not a bad thing.

"So you snuck away from a Hogsmeade visit...to come to London?" Alastor asked, speaking slowly and eyes moving from Tiberius to Minerva. He pointedly left out any mention of the funeral.

"Well...yes. We thought perhaps you'd...but anyway we were a bit late, and we sort of missed...it, or rather we were there, just...outside, so I suppose it didn't really do much good," Minerva sighed. Alastor almost-smiled again, adding a shrug for good measure.

"You're here now though. So that's good enough."

Minerva felt rather confident that would be the closest thing to "thank you" Alastor would be uttering this evening, and smiled appropriately in answer.

"Well," Alastor took a deep breath, "Suppose you've already met Uncle Declan."

Just like that, the subject was changed, and Tiberius and Minerva pretended not to notice. Minerva instead cast another look over her shoulder at the dark dining room, where Declan still stood silhouetted in front of the curtains.

"Indeed."

"He seemed...nice," Tiberius ventured.

"He's not always drinking. Not supposed to drink, actually," Alastor muttered the last, glaring into the dining room as though Declan's drink would vanish at the mere thought.

"Does he spout off those funny lines when he's sober?" Tiberius asked.

"What funny lines?" Alastor frowned now. Tiberius shrugged, hands in his pockets.

"You know. That 'constant vigilance' bit. Seems a bit paranoid."

"Rubbish," Alastor snorted, "He's a soldier, and was an Auror before that. He knows how to stay alive - I reckon he may be on to something there."

Minerva tried her best not to roll her eyes, because really the last thing Alastor needed was further encouragement in the vigilance department. Tiberius, meanwhile, seemed fully prepared to argue the point. They were interrupted, however, when a hand appeared on Alastor shoulder. The hand belonged to an older wizard a bit shorter than Alastor, with steel gray hair and a stiff mustache.

"There you are," the man sounded cheerful enough, but Alastor stiffened visibly. "I thought we ought to finish that talk we were having earlier."

"Thought we had finished," Alastor grumbled.

"We were a bit rushed, I think, Al my boy, and you've had time to think it over now."

Tiberius' eyes widened, and Minerva raised her eyebrows, waiting for the inevitable.

"Don't," Alastor's face had begun to go dangerously red, his fists clenched tight at his sides, "call me Al."

The wizard frowned, no longer looking quite so cheerful, and his grip visibly tightened on Alastor's shoulder. Tiberius cleared his throat, used to interrupting fights since first year and apparently just reacting by this point. The noise succeeded in drawing attention away from Alastor, at least.

"I don't believe I saw you here earlier," the man said slowly, eyes narrowed. "Who might these two be, Alastor?"

He emphasized the name, voice dripping sarcasm, and Minerva had never had more trouble keeping to her manners in front of an adult. Alastor's face reddened further, but when he spoke his voice was impressively level.

"Friends of mine. From school."

"Indeed? Well, I'm Basil Fawcett, senior member of the Wizengamot," here he reached out and grabbed hold of Tiberius' hand. "And you might be?"

"Tiberius Kirk," Tiberius straightened up to his full height, squaring his shoulders.

"Kirk?" Mr. Fawcett withdrew his hand, frowning up at Tiberius. "Any relation to Hadrian Kirk?"

"My father, as a matter of fact," Tiberius said.

"Yes, yes, Scottish purebloods, the lot of you. Should have known I suppose, though I don't recall anyone as tall as you. How old is the family?" Mr. Fawcett asked, genuinely curious, so far as Minerva could tell.

"Depends on who you ask," Tiberius shrugged. He had never, to Minerva's knowledge, cared much about family history, save to say that whoever decided to start the tradition of naming each and every Kirk male after a Roman emperor deserved to be hexed. Honestly, Tiberius had been relatively lucky with his name. A few of his relatives had not.

"Hmm. Well. Fawcetts are purebloods, going back at least a thousand years," Mr. Fawcett declared proudly. Tiberius pretended to be impressed, and Alastor muttered something under his breath that sounded less than polite. Minerva meant to step on Alastor's foot, but Mr. Fawcett had already turned his attention in her direction.

"And what about you, miss?"

"Minerva McGonagall," she said, feeling suddenly and horribly out of place and underdressed for the occasion once again.

"Another set of Scots, if I recall," Mr. Fawcett seemed to be quite pleased that he knew this, and apparently expected Minerva to be surprised to learn her own family's ancestry. She managed a smile, at least. "Your father's...what exactly does he do?"

"He owns a bookshop," Minerva said, "Several bookshops, actually."

"Oh, well that's...that sounds like a charming job," Mr. Fawcett said, cementing Minerva's dislike of the man entirely. "Alastor and I were just discussing jobs earlier, weren't we?"

"Yes," Alastor said shortly. "We were."

"He doesn't seem to be interested in taking help from his old grandfather," Mr. Fawcett winked, and Minerva realized with a start that Mr. Fawcett meant himself. Alastor could not have looked less like the steel-haired man beside him, a fact which Alastor probably greatly appreciated. Not wanting to accept career assistance from the man did not entirely surprise Minerva either. "Why don't we go finish that discussion and let your friends talk about something more interesting?"

Alastor looked as though he would much rather fight a werewolf, but his grandfather had seized hold of his shoulder once again. With a shrug and a roll of his eyes, Alastor allowed himself to be steered away.

"Dinnae seem very grandfatherly ta me," Tiberius grumbled. "Think I liked tha paranoid drunk fellow better."

"You'll have no disagreements from me," Minerva replied. "Did he seem a bit too concerned with blood status?"

"Aye, he did," Tiberius nodded. "Odd, given tha company."

Upon further inspection a large majority of the funeral party did not appear to be wizards at all. In fact, many of the men were dressed like the old soldier in the churchyard, or else in muggle suits. Minerva hoped that this upset Mr. Fawcett to no end, being forced to interact with so many muggles. Not far away, the old soldier, Mr. Moody himself, stood talking with a group of friends. Easily the tallest person in the room, aside from Tiberius, and solidly built, Mr. Moody seemed quite intimidating, age and all. His voice carried across the room, deep and lilting, a sing-song quality to the words that Minerva immediately liked. Mr. Moody also kept shooting glances in the direction Alastor and Mr. Fawcett had gone. This turned out to be an effort in foresight, because just as Tiberius reached out to take a sandwich from a passing tray, a tremendous amount of shouting echoed through the house, followed by the slam of a door. Alastor emerged first, a murderous look on his face as he stormed his way through the stunned crowd, roughly shoving open the kitchen door and vanishing out into the wind and snow. Nobody moved for a few seconds, and Minerva would have sworn nobody breathed either. She would have chased after Alastor, had Tiberius not predicted her plan and latched hold of her arm.

"Wait a moment," he murmured.

Mr. Moody had left the room as well, though returned moments later tugging on a heavy overcoat. He lingered just long enough to whisper something to one of his friends, then swung open the kitchen door and followed Alastor into the night.

A biting chill filled the kitchen, and Minerva was suddenly quite aware of the howl of wind around the house. Conversation began to return, bit by bit, although everyone kept glancing back toward the door as though expecting another imminent explosion. Tiberius finally let go of Minerva's arm, deeming the threat avoided, but quickly resumed his hold when Mr. Fawcett made his appearance.

"There a problem, Basil?" a wizard asked, the man frowning concernedly around his pipe.

"No, no. Just the lad's usual temper," Mr. Fawcett shrugged. "Conversations with my grandson are never easy."

Alastor did have a temper, and a terrible one at that, but still Minerva hated to hear his own grandfather talk about it that way. Apparently a few other people shared her sentiments, Tiberius and Mr. Moody's friends among them.

"Tis bad luck, ya know. Quarrelin' at a wake," one of the soldiers said, his lilt stronger than Mr. Moody's had been. "Tisn't daycent."

"As we had the wake last night, I suspect this doesn't count," Mr. Fawcett replied. This did not seem to be an intelligent response, because the soldier scowled, a look mirrored by the other men around him. "Besides, I don't think it's poor luck to tell the boy off for sneaking his friends out of school."

Minerva felt her stomach drop abruptly, and Tiberius stiffened beside her as attention shifted around the room until everyone realized who Mr. Fawcett had been talking about. The maneuver had been naught but a shameless effort to divert attention, but nonetheless a successful one. Mr. Fawcett seemed to be trying not to smile triumphantly as Minerva tried desperately to think of some excuse.

"I invited them."

The voice came from behind, a woman's voice this time, and Minerva turned around, halfway considering hugging her rescuer. The slender, dark haired woman in the doorway looked to have been crying for quite some time, her eyes still red-rimmed and swollen. Alastor's mother. Immediately Minerva thought back to the portrait in the entrance hall, hidden behind a vase, and she swallowed hard.

"I invited them," Mrs. Moody repeated, her voice steadier than she looked. "And for Merlin's sake, Father, we are at a funeral. Please try to behave."

"Margaret, dear, I," Mr. Fawcett fumbled for words, seemingly stunned by his daughter's appearance. Most of the other guests seemed to be a bit stunned as well. Mrs. Moody frowned and shook her head, cutting him off entirely.

"Leave Alastor and his friends alone."

Mr. Fawcett pinched the bridge of his nose, murmuring something that Minerva supposed was an apology. Whatever he said ended the conflict, because several people began talking determinedly, as though trying to pretend nothing had happened at all. Minerva, meanwhile, found herself being led back into the dining room.

"How are you, Tiberius?" Mrs. Moody asked, waving her wand and lighting the room. Declan had vanished, no longer standing guard in front of the window.

"Just fine, thank you ma'am. I'm sorry-" Tiberius replied, and started to express condolences, but Mrs. Moody shook her head.

"You wouldn't have come if you weren't sorry. And you must be Minerva."

Unsure whether or not shaking hands was appropriate here, Mrs. Moody solved the issue by hugging Minerva.

"It's very nice to meet you, although..." Minerva winced, unsure whether or not a funeral was really a pleasant place to meet anyone. Mrs. Moody seemed to understand though, smiling half-heartedly at least.

"Now, did you actually sneak away from school?"

Minerva and Tiberius exchanged a long look, color creeping into both their faces. Knowing they had snuck away was one thing. Admitting to that fact seemed to be exceedingly more difficult.

"Merlin, you're not going to be in trouble. Not with me, anyway," Mrs. Moody amended. "But I think I ought to let Professor Dumbledore know you're alright."

"Yes...I expect they're a bit worried now," Minerva murmured, imagining the scene they had likely managed to cause. Mrs. Moody seemed to take that as an answer, or an admission rather, because thankfully she did not ask again.

"You can go back with the boys tomorrow. We've plenty of room for you to stay the night."

Minerva had not exactly thought out sleeping arrangements, and apparently neither had Tiberius. She supposed she had simply expected to drop in and then...Floo back to Hogwarts or something like that. Mrs. Moody's idea seemed like a much better option, at any rate.

"Thank you very much."

"Thanks," Tiberius echoed, shifting his stance and nearly knocking his head against the doorframe.

"You're welcome. I'm sure Alastor's quite happy you're here," Mrs. Moody sighed, glancing past Minerva now, toward the kitchen door. The wind howled again, high and shrill, and no one had yet returned. Alastor had in fact seemed glad to see them, at least until his grandfather had made an appearance.

"Should we...can we...perhaps Tiberius and I ought to go look for him," Minerva said, gesturing toward the door. Tiberius at least nodded in agreement, wand already drawn, but Mrs. Moody shook her head.

"It's a dark night, and a cold one. I'd hate to have to explain to your parents that I managed to lose you in the snow. Besides, Ian will bring him back soon enough."

Although Mrs. Moody was probably right, Minerva could not quite ignore the creeping, gnawing worry at the thought of Alastor wandering the London streets, angry and alone. Still, the matter did not seem to be up for negotiation.

"I'll send an owl to Dumbledore," Mrs. Moody said, "Go on and get yourselves some food. And don't mind my father. He just doesn't know when to stop talking."

Mr. Fawcett also did not seem to be aware of basic traditions of politeness, but Minerva decided perhaps now was not the time to point that out. Having settled the matter, Mrs. Moody gave another half-hearted smile, then vanished back into the entrance hall.

Minerva spent the next couple of hours avoiding Mr. Fawcett and feigning interest in conversation with several stuffy Ministry employees. Tiberius seemed to be in a similar predicament, but he had grown up attending official Ministry functions and thus seemed to be much more adept at handling the situation. Mr. Moody's friends, at least, were far more interesting, and Minerva did her best to spend as much time talking with them as possible. She had some trouble keeping all the names and faces straight, and an even worse time understanding some of the men with heavier accents, but Mrs. Moody, Alastor's grandmother, made a timely appearance and more or less aided Minerva through the rest of the conversation. Every so often, Minerva caught sight of Albert sulking at the edges of the crowd, but he always vanished before anyone could approach him, and by the time the guests began to depart, Alastor and his grandfather had yet to return.

* * *

Moonlight glowed behind the curtains, pale light in the otherwise pitch-dark room. All the world was still and silent, peacefully at rest, and yet Minerva found herself wide awake. She could recall no vivid dreams, no startling night terrors. She had only agreed to go to bed in the first place when she heard Alastor's voice in the kitchen, and had known he had returned safely. Thus there was no reason at all for her sleep to have been interrupted. From downstairs an old grandfather clock chimed out the hour, sounding ancient and echoed in the night. Minerva waited, counting the chimes with each breath, frowning with displeasure as the clock finished at half-past midnight. She lay still for a moment, determinedly closing her eyes and trying to relax, trying to return to sleep. The witching hour had settled upon the house, the deepest hours of the night, and as Minerva lay with her face pressed to the pillow, breathing in the smell of lavender and down, she realized that sleep would not be so easily summoned back. Utterly at a loss, Minerva breathed a frustrated sigh into the silence.

Only, as the sound of her sigh drifted away, Minerva realized that the house was not quite so silent as she had thought. A melody carried on the air, heavy and haunting. Minerva frowned, lifting herself up on one elbow and listening intently, this time holding her breath. She did not recognize the song, but there might have been words too, naught but whispers in the night. For a moment, she wondered if she might be dreaming, as she was sure that the last guests had departed for home hours ago. The music remained though, and Minerva certainly felt wide awake. She reached toward the nightstand, fingers creeping across the smooth surface and finding their way to her wand.

"_Lumos_," she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut at the sudden, dazzling brightness that chased the shadows into the furthest corners of the room. After blinking a few times in an effort to clear her vision, Minerva managed to find her glasses. Once aided by the trusty lenses, the room settled into clear shapes and edges, and Minerva pushed back the blankets and swung her feet over the side of the bed.

The floor was cold against her bare feet, and Minerva drew back almost immediately at the frigid feel. For a moment, she considered simply pretending that she had heard nothing. No one would know after all. No one expected her to be awake. She could remain in her warm bed for the duration of the night, wrapped in clean blankets that smelled like lavender and drifting back into a peaceful sleep. The music continued however, the tune changing now, and Minerva was unsure whether the noise was actually getting louder of if that were merely a trick of her imagination. Either way, the curiosity was slightly overwhelming, enough that Minerva planted her feet determinedly on the floor and crossed the room in as few steps as possible. She pulled open the door, shifting from foot to foot, slipping her wand out into the hall first, followed by her head. When no one told her off for wandering the house at odd hours of the morning, Minerva stepped out and shut the bedroom door behind her.

The ends of the hall fell away into darkness, the places in between stretched into long shadow by the light of her wand. Pictures watched her from the wall, the moving portraits asleep, for the most part, and the muggle photos smiling vacantly into the light. Minerva followed the sound of music toward the right, the direction of the stairs. Sure enough, as she approached the landing that overlooked the entrance, the source of the noise became clear.

The parlor, which had hours ago been empty save for a mismatched collection of boxes and black cases, now glowed with life. Shadows danced across the wall, though from her place at the top of the stairs Minerva could not see to who precisely these shadows belonged. The music was louder now though, mingling with the dim flicker of firelight. Down below her, on the next landing, someone sat against the wall, arms crossed and watching the scene in the parlor. Minerva quickly put out her wand, unwilling to disturb the odd, midnight magic of the scene, and descended the stairs.

As she had suspected, the someone seated on the wall turned out to be Alastor, who glanced up and nodded in her direction. Minerva prodded him with her foot until he moved over enough to allow her room to sit down as well.

"What're you doing up?" he growled. "You any idea what time it is?"

"Past midnight," Minerva answered, not bothering to be annoyed by his tone. "I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep."

"Same," Alastor said simply. He kept his voice low, trying not to disturb the music, his face hidden in the shadow. Minerva thought he might have been scowling, but in the darkness she could not properly tell. He had been in a truly bad temper when he had made his exit from the house earlier, and Minerva had not had a chance to speak to him since. Knowing Alastor, though, he had yet to properly calm himself back down.

"What's all this?" she whispered.

"Grandda and his friends," Alastor murmured, "I think Uncle Declan, too."

From her place on the lower landing, Minerva had a much better view into the parlor. The fireplace on the far wall had been lit, and the cases she had seen earlier had been stacked in the hall, their contents emptied. The crowd in the parlor remained halfway shadowed though, backlit by the fire. Someone definitely had a fiddle though, and something that might have been a lute. Bold, black outlines of larger instruments were evident, but Minerva could not begin to guess what exactly those might be. The music certainly sounded lovely, if not rather melancholy, and Alastor had yet to take his eyes off the parlor, his face unreadable.

"Were you planning to join them?" Minerva asked. Alastor snorted, shaking his head.

"Not much of a musician," he grumbled, raising a hand as proof. Minerva sighed, taking his big hand in hers and using the movement as an excuse to shift closer.

"I'm sure you can play just fine."

"You've never heard me play. Besides, Mum said no."

The last was said with a fair amount of bitterness in the tone, Alastor now very definitely scowling into the darkness.

"Dare I ask why?"

"I'm not of age," Alastor grumbled, "Not for another few weeks. Bloody ridiculous."

"But...they're not wizards...well alright, Declan is, but..." Minerva trailed off, waiting for the explanation. The music paused for an instant, and then the song changed, noise and shadow dancing with the moonlight.

"Mum doesn't want me getting any ideas," Alastor snorted. "Or drinking, I'd imagine."

Minerva could not think of anything to say to that, and instead kept silent, listening to the symphony from the parlor. Someone had begun to sing in a clear, easy voice, but too softly for Minerva to make out the words. Alastor seemed to recognize the song though, because he started drumming his fingers atop his knee, eyes closed and mouthing the words silently.

"I'm sorry," Minerva whispered, having wanted to say so for hours now and never having had the chance. Sorry did not quite begin to cover how she felt, but the word seemed like the proper place to start. Alastor opened one eye, watching her warily.

"For what?"

"For...this...that this happened."

"No," Alastor shut his eyes determinedly this time, "Just...don't."

Words began to float upward toward the stairs, something about autumn days and angels. The lilting accents that Mr. Moody and his friends spoke with suited the song, the words as musical as the instruments themselves.

"_On a quiet street, where the old ghosts meet..."_

Minerva shuddered, thinking back to the scene in the churchyard, the swirl of snow and the watching statues as the priest gave the final blessing. She pressed closer to Alastor, leaning against his shoulder, and while his eyes remained closed he did not make any effort to move away.

"How are you?" she asked. For a moment, she thought he was going to ignore the question, which was just as well really because Minerva was not entirely sure how to proceed past this point. She had never been to a funeral, nor had her best friend ever lost his father.

"Fine," came the answer. "Why?"

"Humor me," Minerva sighed exasperatedly, "Perhaps I'm concerned?"

She decided not to mention that her concern largely stemmed from the condition they had found him in last night. His hand had been healed, and the bathroom had been repaired, but magic could only undo so much damage.

"Alright. Still fine," Alastor muttered, crossing his arms now like a sullen child.

The music changed again and the shadows shifted, light flickering out into the hall and creeping up the stairs. Alastor tried to shift out of the way, but there was no place to go. He instead covered his face with both hands, as though rubbing his eyes, but too late. Minerva had already seen the miserable, tear-streaked face he had been trying to hide. The moment passed as the music picked up again, the firelight dimming now, but Alastor seemed to realize that Minerva had seen. He glowered at her from the shadows, the darkness suddenly deeper in that space between them, and Minerva had an irrational moment of fear that the darkness would swallow him whole.

"Just go," Alastor growled, turning away from her now. "Told you, I'm fine."

"You don't look it," Minerva whispered.

Alastor shot another glare back over his shoulder.

"Don't remember asking you."

Minerva fought not to snap at him, not to allow herself to be annoyed. On this occasion, Alastor was perhaps entitled to be more irritable than usual. He stayed silent, watching the scene in the parlor as though he expected her to actually go back to bed.

"Do you realize," Minerva said slowly, "I'm trying to help. If you'd stop being so stubborn."

Alastor had apparently not expected that sort of response, mouth opening and closing and failing to produce words. Minerva moving closer so that they were both in the shadows, holding his hand in both of hers, thumbs tracing circles on the back of his palm.

"You don't have to," he breathed, eyes closed, "Really, please don't think you have to."

"But I want to, and I'm trying to, even though I have no idea what in Merlin's name I'm supposed to be doing," Minerva said, speaking all in a rush of words, anxious and halfway embarrassed by the end.

"You're here. That's good enough for me," Alastor rumbled. "Honestly," he added in answer to Minerva's disbelieving look. "Just...don't go. Not yet."

"I wasn't planning to," Minerva replied, laying her head against his shoulder now. She felt more than saw Alastor's heavy sigh, and his arm slipped around her after a moment or two. They stayed quiet for awhile, listening to the music, watching the shadows dance across the walls. Alastor began to tell her about the words, the stories, his words gradually taking on the sing-song quality that Mr. Moody and his friends had spoken with earlier. He hummed along to the tunes, and Minerva could feel the heavy vibration, though he refused her teasing attempts to convince him to sing outright. At one point, he did at least mimic playing a fiddle, eyes closed in concentration.

Alastor explained that he had fought over his choice of career with Mr. Fawcett. His grandfather seemed to be under the impression that Alastor ought to take a seat on the Wizengamot, because surely the Aurors would refuse anyone with a temper as bad as Alastor's own. Anger flashed in his face then, and a fair amount of hurt too, and Minerva kissed his cheek and declared that Alastor would make a grand Auror, no matter what Mr. Fawcett seemed to think. Alastor seemed to appreciate the gesture, and he might have turned a bit pink. In the shadows, it was difficult to tell.

The funeral itself was given no mention, nor was Alastor's abrupt and angry exist from the house. Nor, for that matter, did Alastor ever say what had happened when Mr. Moody finally tracked him down. Of course, Mr. Moody was to Alastor "Grandda", and the title carried much more affection than any mention of his mother's father had. Minerva listened to all this, nodding and agreeing at the appropriate times, because if talking made Alastor feel better then she was perfectly happy to help.

Albert, he said, had grown a bit sullen, and his mother had taken to odd bouts of crying, though he supposed that was to be expected. He stumbled over a few words then, clearing his throat to recover before going on. Uncle Declan, the dear fellow, turned out to be the oldest of the Moody brothers, and as of now, the last. There had been four, altogether, all but one wizards, and all but Declan killed in the war. Alastor really did choke over the words, badly this time, his mouth clamped in a tight line as his shoulders shook. Minerva wrapped her arms around his neck as best she could from the angle at which she sat, and was not entirely surprised to find herself lifted onto his lap. She leaned against him, one side of her face pressed against his chest and arms wrapped tightly around him, listening to his heartbeat as Alastor took one shuddering breath after another and fought to calm himself.

He stopped talking after that, just held her and hummed along with the music, eyes closed. The songs had yet to grow less melancholy, and Minerva doubted they would, given the occasion, but the tunes were beautiful nonetheless. Mr. Moody and his friends might have been muggles, but the music and words had a power to them, an old, deep magic that echoed in the night. The firelight flickered and swirled with the shadows, orange glow mingling with the traces of moonlight at the edge of the windows. Hazy shapes danced along the walls, and Minerva began to feel the edges of sleep begin to creep up on her once more.

The music fell silent for a brief moment, picking up once more as a single lute, someone plucking at the strings. A deep, rumbling voice joined in with the instrument, but after only a line or two, a whole chorus of voices began to sing as well.

"_We had guns and drums and drums and guns, hurroo, hurroo."_

Shadows swirled and swayed, forming into faces and soldiers marching around the room. Minerva thought one of them might have had the face of the man in the portrait, Alastor's father, laughing eyes and cap tilted at an angle as he marched. The heavy rhythm carried on, like a heartbeat of the song, deep and rumbling in the night. The next time the chorus of voices echoed through the house, Alastor's voice joined them, though he was admittedly doing little more than whispering the words. Minerva meant to ask what this song was about, but there was a fierce look in Alastor's eyes now, when they were not closed entirely, and she dared not break the moment.

"_We had guns and drums and drums and guns, hurroo, hurroo."_

Minerva's eyes began to slip closed, visions in the shadows still dancing in her mind. Alastor's laugh rumbled in his chest, and Minerva's eyes opened wide again as she felt herself being lifted off the ground.

"Can't have you falling asleep on the stairs," Alastor winked, his voice still mimicking his grandda's lilt.

"I don't mind," Minerva murmured, arms around Alastor neck as he laughed again and shifted his hold.

"Won't be the last time ya hear that music, I promise."

Minerva meant to make some comment about wanting a guarantee for that promise, but mostly she allowed her eyes to close and pressed her head against Alastor's chest as he carried her up the stairs. The last thing she remembered was a last, fleeting instant of firelight and shadow, shapes in the moonlight and soldiers marching in the night, the sound of drums and lutes and music, and the echoing chorus of drums and guns as the world began to fade.

"_They'll never take our sons again."_

* * *

The next morning, all trace of the midnight symphony had vanished, even the black cases in which the instruments had come. Minerva bid farewell to Mrs. Moody, and thanked her once more for allowing them to stay the night. She had hoped to perhaps see Alastor's grandda one last time, but he and his wife seemed to have departed sometime earlier. Instead, Minerva found herself Flooing back to Hogsmeade in the company of Tiberius, who had slept soundly through the night, Alastor, who had returned to being stiff and silent, and Albert, who tended to glower sullenly at anyone who spoke to him.

Dumbledore stood waiting for them in The Three Broomsticks, looking as cross as he could manage. Minerva knew before he ever spoke that she and Tiberius were in a great deal of trouble. She did not learn until much later, after a visit to the Headmaster and an unpleasant conversation with her parents, that another student had been petrified.


	15. The Things We Have in Common

A/N - We're now up to two attacks (for those of you keeping score at home), meanwhile everyone is safely back at Hogwarts...or at least, as "safely" as possible, given the circumstances....

* * *

The corridor stretched on, an endless tunnel of solid stone on either side and no doorway in sight. Fortunately, what had looked at first to be nothing more than an empty alcove turned out to be another hall, and Alastor dove around the corner just as a burst of red light sailed over his head.

"Get back here, Moody!"

Alastor hastily pushed himself back to his feet, sucking in a sharp breath as he pressed himself against the wall. His knee had begun to ache in a dull sort of way, and that last sprint up the stairs had left him a bit winded. Wand in one hand, opposite fist clenched tight, Alastor released the breath and closed his eyes, keeping as silent as possible and listening. Footsteps pounded in the empty corridor, matching the pound of the pulse in his ears, and the moment the first boy rounded the corner Alastor struck.

His foot slid out, catching the boy around the ankles and sending him stumbling. Pushing off from the wall, Alastor accompanied the trip with a shove, adding a stunner for good measure as the boy hit the floor. One down, two to go. Alastor kept moving, ducking under the punch the next attacker tried to swing and instead cracking his elbow against the boy's ribs. Winded and gasping, the boy stumbled backwards, an easy target for a Body-bind Jinx that left him prone on the ground. That took care of the two Slytherin members of the party, which left, if Alastor recalled correctly, only the Hufflepuff.

"_Stupefy!" _the third boy, who was indeed wearing a Hufflepuff tie, shouted. Having already seen Alastor take down his two companions, this fellow seemed keen to keep his distance. This suited Alastor just fine, because really he would rather outright duel anyway, given the ache in his knee.

"_Protego!"_ Alastor blocked the spell, sending the red light ricocheting into a nearby suit of armor. He cast a Stinging Hex in answer, but missed badly as the Hufflepuff stepped easily out of the way.

What looked to have been a _Furnunculus _charm came hurtling back, and Alastor found himself suddenly on the defensive. The Hufflepuff seemed to realize this, advancing slowly, a definite grin on his face. Alastor chanced a glance or two back over his shoulder, just to make sure he was not being backed into some sort of trap. Would have been just like those Slytherins, after all, to have another man waiting at the end of the corridor. Blocking and parrying the spells was simple enough, especially since his opponent did not seem to be entirely eager to press his advantage. For a moment or two, Alastor thought that might have been deliberate, until he realized that the boy was just a poor duelist. Shame, really.

Spells sizzled and snapped through the air, ricocheting off walls and armor both. Neither of the downed Slytherins had yet moved, and with any luck, they would remain out of the fight. Alastor kept moving backward, largely defending, attacking any opening he saw, allowing the Hufflepuff boy to continue his advance. His heartbeat still pounded in his ears, the heavy, electric rhythm of the fight pulsing in his veins. The other boy fired a binding curse, and Alastor dropped, acting as though he had been hit. As the Hufflepuff shouted in triumph, sprinting forward to finish the job, Alastor grinned and tapped his wand against the floor.

"_Glisseo."_

Had they been dueling on the staircase, the effect would have been much more impressive. The floor went suddenly slick, dangerously smooth, and the slope was just enough to send the already off-balance Hufflepuff tumbling away with a shriek. The spell seemed to have reached all the way to the stairs at the end of the hall, because the boy failed to regain his footing and slid away over the edge. Alastor waited until the swearing faded before breaking the spell.

"_Finite."_

The hall fell silent again as Alastor hauled himself back to his feet, dusting off his trousers. His heartbeat had yet to slow again, and air was coming in only short, light gasps. Sweat stung at the corners of his eyes, and Alastor was not entirely surprised to find his hair nearly soaked. A good fight, he concluded, pushing his hair back out of his face with one hand. He waited, leaned against the nearest wall, to see if perhaps the Hufflepuff boy would return. A few minutes passed though, and Alastor deemed the fight officially concluded. Another victory in his favor. Grinning, laughing although there was no one else around to hear, Alastor decided perhaps he ought to call it a day.

"Now," Alastor crossed the hall, ignoring the flares of pain from his knee and stooping down beside the first fellow, the one he had tripped. "Have we learned our lesson?"

The boy's eyes went wide at the sight of Alastor's wand, but the spell held and he remained otherwise frozen. Alastor took that to be a yes, patting his hand against the side of the boy's face.

"Good man."

Further on down the corridor, he found a more or less empty cupboard, if one overlooked the mops in residence. If the Slytherins minded the tight space, neither of them complained, though Alastor expected they would have a fair amount of trouble escaping later when the jinxes wore off. He charmed them gold and scarlet, just for good measure, before closing the door with a smile.

That settled, Alastor decided he ought to vacate the scene before any prefects, or worse, professors, made an appearance. That Hufflepuff boy could have gone anywhere, after all. Admittedly, the professors had been making painfully obvious efforts to be kind to him, but Alastor would rather have taken a month's detention than accepted anyone's pity. The prefects, at least, seemed to enjoy catching him, and he could always count on them for a good shouting match, if nothing else.

Alastor wanted neither pity nor sympathy. He wanted to shout and fight, to release some of the anger that threatened to burn him up from the inside. His temper had taken a turn for the worse, he knew that and by now most everyone in the school knew that. So long as he could lose himself in the rush of fists and pulse, the blur of spells and jinxes, Alastor rather failed to care.

Minerva and Tiberius were of course less than pleased to hear about his exploits, but as they were never around to stop him in the act, they could do little more than lecture him. Alastor had never minded being lectured, not really, and lectures from Tiberius could usually be turned into fights anyway. There were days he had rows with Minerva, too, but those were more rare because Alastor knew that unlike Tiberius, Minerva really would hex him. She had asked, more than once, that Alastor please not go wandering the castle alone looking to pick fights with everyone and anyone. Ignoring that particular request had been made easier by the fact that in all honesty, there was no one to keep an eye on Alastor anyway.

Over the last few weeks since the funeral, Alastor had found himself spending a great deal of time alone. The trip to London had earned Minerva and Tiberius the fury of the headmaster, an impressive feat in and of itself because no one had ever believed Professor Dippet to be capable of serious punishment. Professor Dumbledore had intervened though, in order to prevent them being outright expelled, Alastor supposed, but the punishment had still been fairly impressive. The sentence amounted to four months detention, a ban on the rest of the year's Hogsmeade visits, and a suspension from Quidditch until after Christmas holidays. The last had unsurprisingly given Charlus fits, although he not at any point threatened painful or arcane death for himself or others, which had cost Alastor a sickle.

Tiberius and Minerva thus spent virtually all of their free time in whatever horrible detentions Pringle, the caretaker, could devise. Usually the work entailed something like scrubbing trophies or cleaning old potion's cupboards. Once the pair of them had returned late one evening from battling a doxy infestation in one of the old, empty classrooms on the second floor. Alastor had done his best to be on good behavior that night, and had decided not to mention the argument with Tom Riddle that had led to Cygnus Black growing a pair of rather impressive antlers.

In these sort of situations, when Minerva and Tiberius found themselves otherwise occupied, Alastor had always been able to rely on Donald and Geoffery for company. On this occasion, however, Donald and Geoffery also found themselves in quite a large amount of detention. As participants in the fight at The Three Broomsticks, which had apparently been started by none other than Donald himself, both boys had been handed a month's detention and a ban from the next two Hogsmeade trips. Of course, both of them had also earned a trophy or two, the less serious of which they had refused to allow Madame Hewitt to heal. Donald had sported a spectacular black eye for a solid week, his glasses still crooked from being smashed. Geoffery, meanwhile, had paraded around with a broken nose, and would probably have left the thing broken if Augusta had not finally grown tired of listening to his wheezy breathing and repaired the break herself. Impressive though their efforts had been, their detentions still coincided with the first half of Minerva and Tiberius' punishment, proving to be of little use to Alastor's lack of company.

In fact, Alastor rarely ever saw any of his friends outside of class these days. Gabriel of course remained quite petrified, and Charlus was either visiting him in the Hospital Wing or frantically trying to find a Chaser and a Seeker in time for the next Quidditch match. Charlus seemed to be doing more obsessing over Quidditch than usual, which made him exceedingly unpleasant to talk to, especially Charlus seemed to halfway blame Alastor for the sudden loss of players. He would never say so outright, but something in Charlus' tone, in his pointed looks, had rather quickly given the feeling away. Alastor had never been especially close to Augusta or Amelia Bones, nor did he have interest in hanging around with girls who were not Minerva. Most of the Gryffindors seemed to be irritated with him for losing so many house points in so short amount of time, and those who were not irritated seemed to be something closer to afraid. They glared at him less but avoided him just the same.

Wand still clutched loosely in one hand, Alastor limped his way through a maze of corridors, climbing up and down staircases at random, not paying a great deal of attention to where he might be going. Part of him hoped for another conveniently located group of seventh years that he could provoke into fighting, or better yet, for Tom Riddle and his gang to make an appearance. Limping or no, Alastor would never pass up a chance to fight that particular crowd. Unfortunately, no one immediately presented themselves, and Alastor was left to himself, glancing over his shoulder every so often to make sure he had not been followed.

Around the next corner, he stopped to lean against the wall for a moment, taking some of the weight off his knee. Upon further inspection, he discovered that his trousers had been torn, and the skin beneath was bloody. While that certainly explained the ever-increasing pain, Alastor could not recall being hit. Willing to believe that adrenaline had masked the initial pain, Alastor bandaged the injury as best he could, resigning himself to asking Minerva to heal him properly later. Madame Hewitt had, in no uncertain terms, threatened to take him to the headmaster if he turned up injured from another fight of his own making.

His stomach rumbled, and Alastor tested his weight on his injured knee, deciding he could manage to walk so long as he found food at the end. As he turned to leave, he noticed, for the first time, the smeared remains of writing on the opposite wall.

Pringle had attempted to clean away the message, but the redness had proven resistant to the man's best efforts. Fainter now, like a ghost on the wall, a few letters could still be made out, written in the same childish, finger-paint style as the words that had loomed above Gabriel's frozen form.

The uproar over Gabriel's attack had never really faded, not properly. The Gryffindor victory over Slytherin had managed to calm the crowds with the idea that the sabotage had been in vain. The calm had vanished, however, in the wake of the second attack. Now Gabriel's "bizarre accident" was joined by the "bizarre coincidence" of what had happened to Delia Hitchens, or at least that's what the professors tried to explain. Alastor himself had never met Delia Hitchens, nor did he know anything about her save that she had been a fourth year Hufflepuff. Minerva thought she had recognized the girl but could not recall from where. But Delia Hitchens had never been a Quidditch player or a troublemaker, or anything remarkable at all. The only thing she had been was muggleborn, and a surprising number of students seemed to figure this out rather quickly.

No one could recall the message on the wall, but everyone appeared fully prepared to claim that whoever was going around petrifying people was looking for muggleborns in particular. Walburga Black and her crowd of pureblood elitists acted as though this sort of thing had been long overdue, and Alphard had busily tried to avoid any and all conflict. Alastor rather doubted that the petrifying of two muggleborns was purely coincidental, but he did not exactly want to believe that all muggleborns were a target either, because then that raised the question of whether or not half-bloods were a target...

A noise drew his attention, faint and faded sounding, but Alastor raised his wand again nonetheless. The corridor ahead and behind remained empty, not even a flicker of movement in the shadows. Someone had opened the row of windows along one wall though, the afternoon sunlight falling across the stones in long patches, and Alastor peered out the window to see what had caused the sound.

Down the hill, five shapes appeared to be moving around near one of the paddocks where Professor Kettleburn kept whatever his Care of Magical Creatures class happened to be studying at the time. One of the shapes stood noticeably larger than the rest, and seemed to be standing between the rest of the crowd and the entrance to the paddock. Another shout carried on the breeze, words indistinguishable, but the flare of magic, blue and gold lights mirrored on the snow, gave away the less than cheerful nature of the conversation.

Alastor took off sprinting almost immediately, ignoring both the pain in his knee and the growls that his stomach continued to produce. He found another staircase at the end of the corridor, and a door at the bottom that led out onto the grounds. The wind greeted him, cold air kissing his skin and sending a chill through him, but Alastor kept running, footsteps crunching in the snow. He nearly fell coming down the hill, sliding dangerously as his knee gave a bit and he was forced to catch himself with one hand. The snow was frigid against his bare skin, and the cold made his knee hurt even worse. As he grew closer to the paddock, four of the students remained unrecognizable, but the fifth formed into the definite shape of Rubeus Hagrid. Alastor slid to a stop at the bottom of the hill, pushing himself upright and leveling his wand.

A boy near the front of the group had drawn his wand and seemed to be trying to intimidate Hagrid out of his way. This tactic failed miserably, however, given that the boy barely reached Hagrid's chest.

"What's all this?" Alastor growled.

Hagrid glanced up, dark eyes looking pleased to see him. The other four jumped backward, badly startled, and backed further away when they realized who had spoken. To Alastor's disappointment, all four of them seemed to be other third years.

"We were just...talking with Hagrid," the boy at the front said, hastily stuffing his wand into his pocket. "About homework."

"Really?" Alastor raised an eyebrow. "Couldn't you do that inside?"

"Ah..." came the reply.

Alastor rolled his eyes, motioning back over his shoulder with his wand.

"Think it might be a good idea if you go back to the castle."

The students seemed to agree with this suggestion, nodding hurriedly and taking off at a run, black cloaks bold against the snow. Alastor watched until they were halfway up the hill, then turned his attention back to Hagrid.

"Well?"

"They was tryin' ter mess with the hippogriff," Hagrid said, keeping his eyes on his feet.

"Kettleburn's got a hippogriff?" Alastor asked, stepping to the side so he could see around Hagrid properly. Sure enough, on the far side of the paddock stood a hippogriff, who looked none too pleased to have company.

"Fairfeathers, yeah," Hagrid nodded.

Alastor did not immediately realize that Hagrid had been talking about the hippogriff.

"You named it?"

"Well," Hagrid shrugged, looking a bit sheepish, "Seemed like a nice idea."

Alastor had not stayed on in Care of Magical Creatures for NEWT classes, nor had he ever really enjoyed the subject too entirely much. Hippogriffs were, at the best of times, unpredictable and finicky creatures. Not the sort of animal Alastor would have spent any amount of time naming. Still, Hagrid was the same fellow who had brought wolf cubs into Gryffindor Tower. Perhaps naming the hippogriff was not such a bad trade.

"Fair enough," Alastor said. "Doesn't seem to be too happy though."

"Got kids, it does," Hagrid gestured toward the hippogriff with his wand, an enormous weapon big enough to do damage simply as a club. "Don't take kindly ter folks messin' about."

"Right..."

Now that Alastor was looking, three or four small shapes rolled in the snow at the foot of Fairfeathers the hippogriff. Hagrid seemed to mistake his observation for interest.

"You want ter go see 'em?"

"What? No...no," Alastor said hurriedly, shaking his head for good measure. "Doesn't seem like she's all that much calmer."

"She won't hurt yeh...well, probably not, anyway," Hagrid amended.

Alastor found himself less than convinced.

"Why don't we...just get back. Time for dinner, I reckon."

"Alright."

Hagrid waved goodbye to the hippogriff, tucking his wand into the pocket of his robes. Another breeze swept across the grounds, and Alastor felt as though he had just slipped into icy water. He shivered despite his best efforts, stuffing his hands in his pockets for some semblance of warmth.

"I er...heard about yer da," Hagrid's voice was surprisingly quiet.

"Lots of people have, I expect," Alastor said after a moment, not entirely sure he wanted to answer. He had avoided the subject with everyone else so far, and after enough evasions, most everyone had quite asking. Hagrid eyed him warily as they trudged up the hill.

"My da...he died last year, yeh know."

"I'd heard something about that," Alastor murmured. He hesitated a moment, then added, "Does it...does it get better?"

Alastor felt his face go red as soon as the question was asked, horribly embarrassed to be asking a younger student about this sort of thing. In the silence that followed, the horrible fear struck that he would be forced to explain what precisely he had meant. But Hagrid did not seem to mind or think the question odd at all, just got a closed look on his face as he stared off at nothing in particular.

"Never properly, I suppose. Never really the same," Hagrid sighed at last. "But it does get better, jus' like any other injury. Yeh start to be able to remember the good things, at least."

"Good," Alastor breathed, pretending that the ache in the back of his throat was from the cold, nothing more. "Good."

"Got yer mum still, haven't yeh?" Hagrid asked as they reached the top of the hill.

"Yeah, I do," Alastor agreed. "You?"

Hagrid shook his head, and Alastor could not decide whether or not he ought to apologize. The silence stretched on as they neared the door, Hagrid's eyes hidden by his shaggy hair and his face unreadable once more.

"Sorry, I didn't..."

"Nothing ter worry abou'," Hagrid shrugged, "Jus' the way it is. Besides, I've got Hogwarts still."

With that, Hagrid swung the door open and ushered Alastor back inside the castle. The row of windows remained open along the corridor, and Alastor's clothes were rather soaked from his slide through the snow, so no actual warmth was found. Alastor clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering, attempting a warming charm that at least took the edge off the biting chill.

"J-just don't be bringing any more wolves into Hogwarts, a-alright?" Alastor asked.

"Promised yeh I wouldn't," Hagrid managed a smile. "Tellin' yeh, they was harmless though."

"You keep saying 'harmless,'" Alastor muttered, "Hippogriffs, wolves...Merlin, you'd probably say dragons are harmless too."

He had meant the last as a joke, but Hagrid seemed genuinely prepared to argue the point. Fortunately, they reached the Great Hall before any serious debates about the innate goodness of dragons could take place. Just as Alastor had predicted, dinner had already begun.

"I'll see you later," Alastor gestured toward Tiberius' curly head, noticeable above the rest of the crowd at the Gryffindor table.

"See yeh," Hagrid waved, "and thanks, fer the help."

"Don't mention it."

Alastor left Hagrid to find a seat, limping his way toward Tiberius. He fell into a seat beside Minerva just as Augusta was finishing some story about an incident in the Charm's corridor. What exactly Augusta had been doing on the Charms corridor, Alastor neither knew nor cared, and Minerva and Tiberius both abruptly lost interest at the sight of him.

"What in Merlin's name have you been doing?" Tiberius frowned.

"Went for a walk," Alastor said simply, helping himself to a plateful of food as his stomach rumbled once more. "Bit cold outside." "Is it?" Tiberius glanced toward the windows at the end of the hall, "Hadnae noticed. Still snow on the ground?"

"Oh, a fairly good amount I'd say."

"Oh for goodness sake," Minerva interrupted the exchange, drying Alastor's clothes with a flick of her wand. "I assume you've been out entertaining yourself again."

"Why, as a matter of fact, I have," Alastor said, infinitely more comfortable now that his skin no longer felt frozen to his clothes. "And it was a lovely experience, thank you for asking."

Minerva rolled her eyes, and Tiberius looked to be trying not to choke on a mouthful of food.

"Really, Alastor, you've got to stop before you hurt yourself."

His knee chose that moment to remind him of his current injury, and Alastor was just preparing himself to inform Minerva of her near-prophetic powers when Professor Dumbledore chose that moment to arrive.

"I trust you're all having a fine evening," the professor said, a roll of parchment in one hand and a quill in the other. "I hate to interrupt, but might I inquire as to which, if any, of you, plan to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays."

Minerva and Tiberius both shook their heads, as did Augusta. Alastor was the only one to speak.

"I'm staying."

If Dumbledore was surprised, he did not show it, just peered over his half-moon spectacles at Alastor for a moment before writing on the parchment.

"If you're sure, Mr. Moody."

"I am," Alastor nodded, ignoring the shocked looks from his friends.  "Well, then I bid you all a good evening. And may you have a lovely dinner," Dumbledore said before moving on to the next group.

The shocked silence lasted approximately a few more seconds, just long enough for Alastor to get another load of food into his mouth.

"You can't stay here!" Minerva said, frowning.

"Why not?" Alastor shrugged.

"Because...because you ought to go home...with your family."

"And spend Christmas listening to my grandfather complain about my choice of career, my temper, and my hair," Alastor counted the list on his fingers, "No, thank you."

"I'd say you could come with me," Tiberius said, "But we're going to tha States fer some conference. Da's dragging tha whole family along."

"I expect a souvenir," Alastor pointed his fork at Tiberius, who nodded as solemnly as he could manage.

"Any other year, I'm sure my parents would love to have you," Minerva bit her lip, "but I'm in a bit of trouble right now, so..."

"Minerva, really," Alastor sighed, smiling for her sake, "It's fine. I'll stay here, and I'll have a grand Christmas. Besides, not like I'll be the only one at the castle."

Minerva did not seem to be entirely convinced, but she let the matter drop at least. Tiberius launched a series of complaints about the horrors of detention, claiming that the conditions were nearly inhumane. Alastor listened to all this and agreed at the appropriate times, mostly too occupied with eating to do much conversing of his own.

"Oh!" Minerva snapped her fingers, "I saw Professor Slughorn this afternoon."

"What's that got ta do with anything?" Tiberius frowned.

"Potions cabinets," Minerva said, "It made sense. Anyway, he's having a Christmas party."

"As usual," Alastor muttered.

"Slug Club," Tiberius said, frown shifting into a nasty look at the very mention of the group.

"Anyway," Minerva said again, more forcefully this time, "He said to be sure and invite you."

Alastor nearly choked on his drink.

"Me?"

"Him?" Tiberius sounded somewhat strangled.

"He's quite impressed with your Defense marks," Minerva went on, "Wants to show you around to his Auror friends, he says."

"Well..." Alastor could not decide whether or not being "showed around" by Professor Slughorn was actually a good thing. "I suppose."

"Minerva and I will mourn your loss," Tiberius said gravely.

"Speak for yourself. I was invited too," Minerva arched an eyebrow. Tiberius sputtered for a moment, mouth opening and closing, before he finally settled for dropping his head into his hands.

"So we'll be going to the Slug Club Christmas party then?" Alastor asked. "Lovely. Can't wait."

"Yes. Well. We're supposed to bring dates, you know," Minerva said slowly. "Or at least, we can bring guests. So I think ideally that means dates."

"Suppose it probably does," Alastor allowed. Minerva shot him a pointed look overtop her glasses. He pretended not to see. "Guess I ought to ask someone then."

"I expect so," Minerva's voice suggested that both her eyebrows had been raised now.

Alastor made a point of swallowing his current mouthful before turning towards Minerva, a crooked grin on his face.

"Minerva, what do you say we go together? It's a brilliant idea, really."

"Git," she smacked him in the shoulder, trying not to grin.

"Is that a yes?"

"That is a 'you're impossible', actually."

"Hmm I believe you remind me of that," Alastor said, "Frequently."

"I'd hate for you to forget," Minerva replied. "And yes, I think that's a brilliant idea."

"Spectacular," Alastor grinned again, leaning out of the way of another smack. "And it'll be a magnificent party, all the more so because certain Scotsmen are not invited."

Tiberius surfaced at last, if only enough to glower at Alastor.

"I should think that means tha opposite. It'll be horribly boring without me. You'll see."

"Oh, I'm sure," Minerva said. "Though if you were horribly desperate to come, I'm sure you could find someone to take you. Dolores would be thrilled."

Tiberius balked, appalled at the very suggestion as Minerva grinned proudly at her successful jab and Alastor roared with laughter. It was the best he had felt in days.


	16. Party Favors

The night of party, Minerva donned her favorite green dress, bullied Augusta into helping her with her hair once again, and could not possibly have been more excited. She of course did her best to keep the excitement to herself as much as possible, because really, this was a Slug Club gathering, not one of Alphard's parties or even a Gryffindor victory celebration. But as the hour drew closer and closer, Minerva found that she did not so much care what sort of party she happened to be attending, so long as Alastor was there with her.

She had planned her entrance with infinite care. The ideal scenario that she decided upon began with her gracefully descending the stairs, drawing the attention of everyone in the common room. Well, perhaps not everyone, but at least a fair amount of people. There would be whispering, of course, and jealous looks from a few of the other girls. Alastor would be waiting near the portrait hole, dashing in his dress robes. His face would light up at the sight of her, and he would hurry across the room to offer her his arm. In one version of events, Minerva had given consideration to perhaps pausing for a kiss under some conveniently located mistletoe. However, she decided that in the middle of even a moderately crowded common room hardly seemed the place for that sort of thing, and concluded that part might ought to occur later in the evening.

Of course, things rarely turn out exactly as planned. Minerva spent a fair amount of time wobbling down the stairs, trying very hard to keep her balance. Perhaps she ought to have practiced walking around in the heels after all. Still, she reached the floor safe and sound, and without having managed to break her ankles. The common room lay emptier than she had expected, and only one or two glances came her way. Thomas Cromwell waved from his seat on the sofa, wearing a new pair of glasses that suited him much better than Minerva's had. A cluster of fourth year girls seemed to be quite impressed by her dress at least, which Minerva supposed worked just as well. Alastor, meanwhile, was not waiting by the portrait hole, though he was at least in the room. He seemed to be talking to someone in the corner beside the fireplace, but Minerva could not tell who.

Abandoning the last of her carefully planned strategy when she realized Alastor was not going to turn around and notice her any time soon, Minerva smoothed her dress and crossed the room. Walking in the heels became progressively easier, until she hardly wobbled at all, which was a nice improvement. She stopped directly behind Alastor, at first trying to listen to the conversation. The words were low though, and neither party sounded especially happy, and so Minerva instead slipped her hands over Alastor's eyes. He halted mid-sentence, stiffening visibly.

"You didn't forget, did you?" Minerva asked.

Alastor relaxed as soon as she spoke, releasing a long breath and gently reaching up to push her hands away.

"Course I didn't," Alastor spoke as he turned to face her. He looked to have meant to continue speaking, but he paused as his eyes fell on her. Minerva could not help but grin smugly at his reaction.

"Course I didn't," he cleared his throat and tried again, tugging on his dress robes as he did so, "See."

"I'm impressed," Minerva said, smoothing a crease in his robe with one hand. Alastor smiled at that, red beginning to creep into his face. They were standing rather close, and as the common room was emptier than she had expected, perhaps...

"Can I go now?" Albert leaned around his elder brother, glowering sullenly at the world in general and nothing in particular.

"Hello, Albert," Minerva said.

Albert merely glanced up at her, and only eventually muttered a hello in return because Alastor glared down at him until he did so. Waiting for no further conversation, Albert pushed past his brother and slipped away, vanishing up the stairs.

"Everything alright?" Minerva asked.

Albert had always been a bit shy, but he had never acted quite like that, not to Minerva's knowledge. Alastor watched his brother go, looking somewhere between annoyed and anxious, but then he shook his head and the expression vanished entirely.

"Just fine," he muttered. "We've a party to go to, don't we?"

He smiled again, offering his arm, and he certainly did look quite dashing, so perhaps all Minerva's plans were not entirely lost.

"I do believe so," Minerva smiled in answer, motioning for him to lead the way. A moment's pause was required to open the portrait, and someone on the far side of the common room whistled as they turned to leave. This earned the whistler a rude gesture from Alastor and a chorus of laughs from the fourth year girls. Alastor kept glaring back over his shoulder as he held the portrait open, and he offered a hand to help her through but Minerva remained quite determined to manage on her own. She had, after all, been crossing in and out of the Gryffindor common room for years now. Admittedly, the heels caused her to stumble a bit, cursed things, but Alastor caught her by the elbow and prevented any sort of serious fall. Not that a serious fall had been impending, of course.

"Careful," Alastor rumbled, "Just the Slug Club. Haven't got to be throwing yourself down the stairs."

Minerva rolled her eyes at him, taking his arm again and trying not to laugh as they descended the stairs toward the entrance hall.

"How's Tiberius taking it?"

"Oh," Alastor took a deep breath, "He's managing bravely, I suppose."

Tiberius had alternated between sulking and snarking ever since the invitations to the Christmas party had gone out. Today had been a day largely spent sulking.

"Pity he didn't find someone to take him," Minerva said, knowing full well that Tiberius had no genuine interest whatsoever in attending the party. He just did not want to be left out of anything that involved both Minerva and Alastor.

"Well, I left him with Gabriel's magazines keeping him company," Alastor replied. "Think he'll be alright."

They reached the entrance hall, joining a crowd of other students who all seemed to be heading in the same direction. Judging by the attire, most of the students seemed to be attending the party as well. Minerva tried in vain to recall what in Merlin's name Alastor was talking about.

"What magazines?"

Alastor grinned crookedly, shrugging, and Minerva caught his implication easily, delivering a swift smack to his shoulder for good measure.

"Gabriel's all petrified and everything," Alastor said, struggling to keep from grinning again, "We figured it was only fair."

"We?" Minerva arched an eyebrow at him, and Alastor sobered instantly, though his face went an alarming shade of red.

"Er...Tiberius, I mean. Tiberius figured it was only fair."

Minerva watched him a moment longer, then sighed and rolled her eyes as dramatically as she could manage.

"The source of my problems. My two best friends are nothing more than a couple of dirty minded boys."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Alastor murmured, winking in her direction as they at last entered Slughorn's office.

The professor seemed to have expanded the space in effort to fit all the guests, and still the room felt hopelessly crowded. A large Christmas tree stood in one corner, wrapped in garland and fairy lights, and the same fairy lights hung on strands around the room. Blue and gold and silver globes of light floated around the ceiling, casting their hues on the guests beneath. In the corner opposite the Christmas tree, a little quartet of men in dress robes looked to be preparing their instruments. Minerva failed to see anyone she recognized at all, not even Professor Slughorn himself, and reached for Alastor's hand about the same time as he reached for hers.

"How long do you suppose we've got to stay?" he whispered.

"Long enough to make a trip around the room I suppose," Minerva answered, "At least see Professor Slughorn."

Alastor frowned, not entirely enthused by this suggestion.

"There's food here somewhere though. Drinks, I'd expect."

"Probably," Minerva agreed, leaning out the way as a pair of Ravenclaws passed by. "Let's at least get out of the doorway."

For all his apparent discomfort, Alastor at least seemed to know the best way to fake one's way through these sort of occasions. Minerva had a feeling he had attended far more Ministry functions than he had ever let on about. Still holding onto her hand, Alastor led the way through the crowd, casting smiles and nods in the direction of anyone who happened to be in their path. Minerva pulled him to a stop though as she spotted a familiar face. Amelia Bones stood quite near to the Christmas tree, glass in one hand and the other tugging nervously at her long braid.

"Evening, Amelia," Minerva said. Amelia jumped a bit, startled, then smiled when she realized who had spoken.

"Oh, hello. You two enjoying yourselves?"

"Only just got here," Alastor grumbled, attempting to catch the attention of a passing waiter.

"Yes, well. We're working on that part," Minerva explained. "Who did you come with?"

"Ah...Malachi, actually," Amelia said sheepishly.

"Smith?" Alastor's frown was evident in his voice. Minerva herself could not honestly say she especially cared for Malachi Smith either, although Malachi probably thought everyone utterly loved him.

"Yes," Amelia sighed. "Which is why I'm over here and he's...somewhere."

"Do you want me to hex him for you?" Minerva offered, a bit disappointed when Amelia shook her head. "Or Alastor could hex him?"

"Why am I the second choice?" Alastor asked, handing Minerva a glass he had finally managed to procure. Minerva just settled for casting a pointed look at him, and Alastor shrugged, halfway smiling.

"If anyone hexes him, I'll do it myself," Amelia said. "Now go on, enjoy the party. I'll be just fine."

Minerva could not help but feel a bit hesitant to leave her friend behind, but Amelia all but insisted. This time Minerva took the lead, dragging Alastor along through the crowd. They encountered a couple of professional Quidditch players, neither of which Minerva recognized. One of the men attempted to strike up a conversation with Alastor, but as soon as he realized that Alastor was not a Beater he rather quickly lost interest. Minerva pretended not to be offended that neither of the Quidditch players had spoken to her, save for offering their autographs. Of course, she could pretend because Alastor seemed to be genuinely offended on her behalf, muttering under his breath and scowling.

An Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries turned out to provide excellent conversation, and Minerva found herself discussing various theories of Transfiguration for quite some time. Alastor, meanwhile, had occupied himself in conversation with a Hufflepuff boy nearby. Minerva realized with a start that the Hufflepuff boy happened to be Malachi Smith himself, and decided she ought to intervene before any threats could occur. She excused herself from the Unspeakable and stepped into place beside Alastor, who looked far too pleased with himself.

"I hope you don't mind if I steal Alastor," she said, smiling at Malachi as politely as she could manage.

"Of course not. Perfectly alright," Malachi answered, looking cheerful enough, though that could easily have been an act.

"What were you telling him?" Minerva whispered, pulling Alastor away.

"Just thought I'd mention how Amelia has lost of friends who are wizards," Alastor shrugged, but Minerva did not miss the smirk that passed over his face. "No overt threats, if that's what you're asking."

"Well, as long as they weren't overt," Minerva sighed.

"Had to do something while you were chatting with the Unspeakable," Alastor explained, "Malachi just...happened to be there."

Minerva decided to ignore the last part entirely.

"She was quite knowledgeable about Transfiguration, which was particularly impressive because I believe she said her speciality is Prophecy."

"Donald would have liked talking to her then," Alastor snorted.

"Donald hasn't..." Minerva frowned, dropping her voice, "He hasn't been 'prophesying' lately."

"What do you mean?"

"Tiberius said he hasn't been doing his homework. Not since..." Minerva trailed off, because Alastor understood the point and really there was no sense in bringing that up just now.

Donald still seemed to be feeling tremendously guilty about the whole business, and had apparently been refusing to so much as touch a crystal ball or a deck of cards. Eventually he would move past the issue, or so both Tiberius and the Divination professor claimed. Until then, Donald seemed content to pretend he had no idea what the term Divination even meant. Alastor shifted uncomfortably, clearly struggling against the urge to run his hands through his hair. Minerva took one of his hands in hers though, and he looked as though he was about to speak when Professor Slughorn at last made his appearance.

"Minerva, don't you look lovely this evening!" Slughorn said cheerily. He sported a waistcoat trimmed in Slytherin green and silver and appeared to be having an excellent time, his round face rosy. "And Alastor, dear boy, so glad you could come!"

Alastor shook the Potion master's hand, and Minerva did the same. With any luck, this would be a brief conversation and then they could make their escape. Unfortunately, Slughorn seemed to have other plans in mind.

"Here they are, George, just the two I was hoping to introduce you to," Slughorn motioned back over his shoulder, waving over a short blond man who seemed less than thrilled to have had his conversation interrupted. If Slughorn noticed the irritation, he paid it no mind.

"This is Mr. George Fairfax, Head of the Auror Department," Slughorn declared proudly. "One of my best Potions students, if I recall correctly."

"Thank you, professor," Auror Fairfax managed a small smile, "Though if I recall, I was by far better at Defense."

Slughorn chuckled at that, then gestured at Alastor with a broad grin.

"I do believe this young man could give you a run for your money. May I introduce Alastor Moody."

Although pleased by the compliment, Alastor's face went red again at Slughorn's words.

"Nice to meet you," Alastor shook hands with Auror. Suddenly Fairfax began to look far more interested in the conversation.

"Could he indeed? Strapping young fellow like you have a career in mind?"

"I plan to enter the Auror Academy, sir," Alastor said.

"Good man. That's what I like to hear," Fairfax grinned outright, clapping Alastor on the shoulder. "And what about this young lady?"

Alastor opened his mouth, intending to introduce her, but Slughorn spoke up first.

"Minerva McGonagall. Quite a talent she has for Transfiguration. And Potions, of course."

"Skills like that are quite useful for an Auror," Fairfax said.

"Well, I haven't quite decided what I want to do yet," Minerva replied, "Though I certainly have the NEWTs for the Academy."

Fairfax considered this, seeming on the verge of launching into some sort of recruitment speech.

"They are just sixth years, George," Slughorn said, just in time, "Plenty of time to be thinking it over."

"Suppose you're right," Fairfax shrugged. "Still, the department would be pleased to have you, Miss McGonagall. Pleased to have both of you, really. I take Professor Slughorn's recommendations very highly."

Slughorn grinned broadly beneath his walrus-like mustache, and Alastor shook Auror Fairfax's hand again. Minerva meant to thank Fairfax as well, but before she could speak something bumped into her from behind, sending her stumbling forward. Fairfax reached out to steady her, and Alastor's arm snaked out in an instant, pulling her towards him as she glanced over her shoulder to see what had happened.

"I'm terribly sorry," Tom Riddle said, "Didn't see you there."

"That's alright," Minerva murmured, straightening her glasses. Tom was pale and handsome as always, wearing robes as dark as his hair, and Jane Gibbon all but clinging to his arm. Jane in fact seemed to be frowning at Minerva, as though the collision had somehow been her fault. Tom's eyes lingered over Minerva, his expression unreadable.

"Tom, dear boy!" Slughorn's voice cut across the moment. "Wonderful to see you. Are you and Ms. Gibbon enjoying the party?"

"Of course, sir," Tom's smile stopped well short of his eyes, not that Slughorn seemed to notice. "I think you've outdone yourself."

"Splendid! I'm certainly glad to hear it. And your timing is impeccable as ever. Tom, I'd like you to meet Mr. George Fairfax, he's the Head of the Auror Department..."

Tom shook hands with Fairfax, each looking rather intrigued by the other. Alastor leaned down, his whisper cutting across Slughorn's words.

"Can we go now?"

Minerva nodded hurriedly, deeming their escape to be quite safe, with everyone so effectively distracted by the appearance of Tom Riddle. She waved goodbye, but nobody seemed to notice, and Alastor motioned for her to go first, no doubt trying to place himself between her and Tom.

"Dunno if I like being introduced to the same fellow as Tom Riddle," Alastor grumbled.

"Well, he is very bright. Supposedly," Minerva allowed. This failed to cheer Alastor up at all, so instead she tried for, "You'd be a far better Auror anyway."

Alastor grinned smugly, squaring his shoulders at that. He abruptly froze though as a hand seized hold of his sleeve. Rolling his eyes, Alastor scowled, fully intending on turning and having a go at whatever unfortunate soul had grabbed hold of him. The owner of the hand spoke first.

"Colonel?"

Alastor expression shifted abruptly to one of confusion.

"Beg your pardon?"

The owner of the hand slipped past Alastor, eyes wide and excitement evident. The man wore military robes, a collection of medals and insignia displayed on one side of his chest, and he seemed to be studying Alastor's face with deep interest. Frowning, utterly at a loss, Alastor glanced from the man to Minerva and back again.

"Er...sir," Minerva cleared her throat, "Can we help you?"

"I thought...I'm terribly sorry, I thought you were someone I knew," the man sighed. "Do you mind my asking for your name, lad?"

"Alastor Moody..."

The soldier brightened again at the name, at least for a moment.

"Ha! Then Merlin, I wasn't quite so wrong, was I?"

"Suppose not," Alastor allowed, edging away from the man as slowly as he could manage.

"You look just like him, you see," the soldier went on, "I had noticed you earlier, thought I was just seeing things though. But then you passed by again, and I thought perhaps..."

Alastor paled as he understood the soldier's meaning, and Minerva barely manage to stifle a gasp.

"Did...did you know him, then?" Alastor managed after a moment.

"I was with him, in Egypt. Captain Benjamin Prince, reporting for duty," the soldier saluted, grinning until he realized that neither Alastor nor Minerva found the situation remotely amusing. "Anyway...yes, I knew him. He was one of my commanding officers. Great man. I'm terribly sorry about...well."

"Thank you," Alastor breathed, beginning to look a bit pained.

"We won, you know, thanks to him. The muggles were thrilled of course - they seem to have been just as keen to beat Rommel as we were," Prince said.

Alastor merely nodded, casting Minerva a pleading look that plainly begged for a rescue. She was all too happy to oblige.

"Well, it was lovely to meet you, Captain Prince," Minerva reached out and tugged on Alastor's sleeve, smiling at the captain. "I hope you enjoy the party."

"Thank you, miss. I'm sorry if I...sometimes when we lose friends...they keep turning up for awhile, like you're not quite ready to see them go," Prince explained. He seemed to be genuinely trying to apologize, or at least trying to help, but Alastor's face had gone from pale to pinkish, and he made a strangled sort of noise that Minerva hastily covered with a cough.

"Yes, I'm sure. Good evening to you then."

Prince saluted again as they turned to leave, and Minerva managed a smile and a wave back in the young captain's direction. The crowd had settled more by now, and in fact seemed to have thinned out, making their exit all the easier. Minerva led the way, leading Alastor by the hand and beginning to regret her choice of footwear. The corridor outside remained relatively empty, the ghost of chatter and light trickling from Slughorn's offices. Compared to the stuffy room, the night air felt cooler and cleaner, infinitely more breathable. For the first few steps, neither of them spoke, the steady rhythm of MInerva's heels against the stone echoing in the silence.

"Are you...are you alright?" Minerva asked. Based on the fact that Alastor seemed to be staring miserably at his shoes, she felt as though she already knew the answer.

"Fine," Alastor muttered. "I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yes," he snapped, sharp words bouncing off the stones.

Minerva halted, crossing her arms and meeting his glare. He could be angry, and he could be upset, but he would not take either feeling out on her. Alastor seemed to realize this, and took a deep breath, then another, beginning to look more embarrassed than angry.

"I'm...I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

"I really am trying to help," Minerva said gently.

"I know," Alastor sighed, running his hands through his hair, no longer concerned with keeping up appearances. Honestly, Minerva liked it better messy anyway. "I know."

Minerva stepped closer, one hand against his cheek, and for a moment she thought they might kiss, stomach fluttering in anticipation. Laughter rippled down the corridor though, drawing both Minerva's and Alastor's attention to a group of students disappearing in the opposite direction.

"Perhaps we ought to...get back to the common room," Alastor suggested. His mouth quirked up in an almost-smile, and Minerva nodded in agreement. With any luck, the common room would be emptier by now, and by this point Minerva was determined to end the night with a kiss.

"It was a nice party," Minerva allowed, leaning in as Alastor slipped his arm around her waist.

"Hmm. Suppose so," Alastor said half-heartedly. They rounded a corner, slipping into a darker part of the corridor.

"I'm sorry, about..." Minerva cut off her sentence, glancing up at Alastor and waiting for the reaction.

"Nothing to worry about," Alastor rumbled. "Didn't know he was going to be there, after all."

"True," Minerva agreed. "Not to mention it was all so very formal."

The diversion had been blatant, but Alastor cast an appreciative look in her direction.

"Oh," Alastor breathed a quick sigh of relief, "It's a bit stuffy for my taste."

"Very stuffy," Minerva said. "All the odd little food."

Alastor pulled a face, as though the food had gravely offended him in some way.

"And the music, too."

"Now, what was wrong with the music?" Minerva countered, spinning so that she walked backwards, facing Alastor and still within arms' reach.

"Didn't say I minded the company," Alastor said with a crooked grin, "Just don't care for such slow music. Feels like I'm at a...well, you know..."

He trailed off, looking embarrassed, and Minerva took his hands in hers.

"And here I thought it was because you couldn't dance."

"Course I can," Alastor seemed surprised at this accusation, "I just...don't."

The idea of Alastor dancing at all, much less willingly, was honestly a bit odd, and Minerva had trouble even conjuring a mental picture.

"If I recall correctly, you refused to dance with me at Alphard's party," Minerva said.

"You didn't give me a chance to answer properly!" Alastor insisted. "That was a bit of a shock. Go from trying to kill me to asking me to dance."

"Still. I don't recall you answering at all," Minerva arched an eyebrow after considering his explanation for a moment.

"Sometime, I'll take you dancing. How's that?" Alastor smiled, shaking his head.

"I look forward to it," Minerva said. She slipped back into place beside Alastor then, humming a tune and reaching for her wand, intending to mime a conductor. However, she realized with a start that her wand did not seem to be presently in her possession. Drawing back with a gasp, she earned a faintly startled look from Alastor.

"My wand, I must have dropped it."

"Back at the party, else we'd have heard it in the hall," Alastor said.

"I suspect so," Minerva agreed, more than slightly concerned.

"'S alright, I'll get it," Alastor assured her.

"I'm perfectly capable of coming too. It is my wand, after all."

"Well, that's true," Alastor allowed, "But I reckon you're a bit tired of walking at this point."

Minerva glanced down at her feet, which had indeed been hurting for some time now. But she was well aware of the risks of wearing heels, and had certainly not complained about them, not out loud anyway.

"Who said anything about that?"

"Shifted your weight," Alastor said, "Makes you walk a bit different. I noticed."

"Really?" Minerva arched an eyebrow at him, not entirely believing that explanation.

"Course I did. Constant vigilance and all."

"Oh, Merlin, please don't tell me you've started that," Minerva sighed.

"It's useful, I think," Alastor shrugged, "Just wait here. I'll be right back."

He smiled, squeezing her hand before striding back down the corridor, dark robes swirling behind him. Minerva watched until he turned the corner, then slumped back against the wall and sighed. Of all occasions to lose her wand. Not to mention Minerva had never, to her knowledge, misplaced her wand before. Alastor would never let her hear the end of this. Constant vigilance indeed.

Footsteps echoed on the stone floor, and Minerva half expected to see Alastor returning already. Instead a seventh year couple passed by, walking on past the side corridor and disappearing from sight, save for their shadows trailing along behind. Minerva sighed again, thoroughly displeased with herself over this business. Losing her wand had at no point been part of the evening's plan. Taking off her glasses for a moment, Minerva pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes.

"Hello."

Minerva's eyes flew open, glasses hurriedly returning to their place. The shadows shifted and swirled into definite shapes, the closest shape of all being that of Tom Riddle. He stood with his hands behind his back, pale face half-hidden in the darkness, wearing a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

* * *

A/N - Stuff: It's about to go down. The next chapter's written - how soon it appears though...now that depends on that magical button just down below ;)


	17. Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

A/N - (Chapter title, for the record, taken from the book of the same name) When we last saw our heroes, they were departing Slughorn's Christmas party. Of course, Minerva rather quickly discovers that she seemed to be missing her wand, and Alastor, ever the gentleman, has gone back to retrieve it. Alone in the corridor, Minerva is greeted by the sudden appearance of a certain Mr. Riddle...

* * *

_"Every man is afraid of something. That's how you know he's in love with you; when he is afraid of losing you."_

* * *

The flickering torchlight divided Tom's face, one half pale and glowing, the other masked in the darkness. Minerva's breath caught in her throat, too surprised to manage a response, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Tom seemed perfectly content to wait, standing utterly, painfully still, and Minerva sincerely hoped he could not hear her heart hammering in her chest. The part of her mind not shocked into silence ordered her to speak, to say something, before she made a grand fool of herself, and Minerva blurted out the first question that came to mind.

"Shouldn't you be with your date, Tom?"

A reasonable enough inquiry after all, especially considering how Jane Gibbon had been all but attached to Tom's arm not long ago. Losing her had no doubt been an impressive feat, but Tom merely shrugged, the motion faint in the shadows.

"Shouldn't you be with yours?" he countered, sliding forward half a step. Minerva meant to step back as well, maintain the space between them, but the wall stopped her, the stones cold and unmoving against her skin.

"He'll be right back," Minerva said, unsure whether she was trying to convince Tom or herself. She kept her voice level though, giving no indication of her discomfort. This was Tom Riddle after all. A smart boy. A nice boy. Nothing at all to worry about. Tom arched one eyebrow at her, disbelief evident, and so Minerva tried again.

"Any moment. He just went back for-"

"This, I expect," Tom spoke at last, voice icy calm as he revealed what he had been holding behind his back. Slowly, carefully, as though handling some dangerous object, Tom drew a wand. Her wand. "For a moment there, I was worried you might go with him."

Minerva's stomach plummeted to somewhere in the vicinity of her knees, but she stifled the gasp, even if she failed to keep her eyes from darting towards the corner, hoping to see Alastor returning. No footsteps sounded in the hall though, no echo of movement, only the faintest threads of music and laughter from Slughorn's offices edging on the silence. They were quite certainly alone. She could handle this herself anyway, nothing at all to worry about. Surely, nothing to worry about. Tom slid forward another step, perfectly content with her silence. The torchlight backlit him now, shrouding his handsome face in shadow.

"So you know, I don't believe he'll find it."

"Well," Minerva forced a smile, reaching out her hand, "I appreciate you finding it for me at least."

Tom ignored both her hand and the statement, twirling her wand between his fingers and watching her with an odd expression on his face.

"You know, Minerva, I've been thinking..."

"I think Miss Gibbon's beginning to wonder where you are," Minerva murmured. The briefest smile flickered over Tom's face, faint and false as a ghost in the darkness.

"Oh, I'm not especially concerned with Jane. She's not really...up to my level, if you understand my meaning."

"I'm afraid I don't, actually," Minerva replied.

"I need someone with skill. Talent. Power. Someone like...you," Tom's voice remained light, detached, but his face changed in the flickering shadows, no longer quite so pale and handsome. The torchlight carved deep lines along his cheekbones, around his eyes, and suddenly the Tom before her took on a much more frightening, predatory appearance.

"You're quite a talented witch, after all."

Something in Tom's tone, Tom's face, set off warning bells, and a fleeting stab of panic passed through her, a sudden, desperate need to escape. But Tom's eyes were deep and dark and vast, and they held her in place, looking through her, past her, to some vision that only he could see. Minerva shuddered despite her best efforts, sucking in a sharp breath as Tom closed the last remaining space between them. Her fists clenched at her sides as she tried once more in vain to back away.

"Alastor," she murmured, halfway a warning, halfway a call for help. He would come back. Any moment now, Alastor would come back. Tom, however, seemed to think otherwise. He stood taller than Minerva had realized, taller even than her, and in this instant he might as well have been towering.

"Moody's a decent wizard," Tom allowed, "Nothing compared to me though."

Minerva glowered at him, fully intending to argue. She gasped, though, as Tom traced her wand down her cheek, slowly, gently, shaking his head and placing one finger over his lips. Finally, some part of Minerva's mind registered that she ought to scream, to call for help, because the party was just around the corner and surely someone would hear. She did not honestly much care for the idea of calling for help, but in this case she would simply have to swallow her pride. Something must have given her intention away though, because Tom's hand covered her mouth before she ever had a chance to make a sound.

"Let's not be making any noise, now, there's a girl. Nice and quiet, we're just having a friendly chat, after all. No need to make a scene."

This had stopped being any sort of friendly chat long ago, and Minerva glared at him overtop of her glasses, employing the look that sent first years running. Tom seemed rather immune to the effects, unfortunately, and paid her no further mind until she struggled against his hold. At that, her wand came to rest across her throat, and Minerva stilled instantly.

"I can give you what you want, you know," Tom murmured, acting as though they were having a conversation about nothing more than Quidditch scores.

Scowling at him, furious and frightened and determined not to show the latter, never to show the latter, Minerva bit her lip and held as still as possible. The pressure of the wand vanished, replaced instead by Tom's fingers, the touch icy against her skin.

"I can show you power like you've never even dreamed of," he breathed, words whispering against her skin. His fingers trailed lower, curving down across her neck, eyes dark and eager as he leaned in closer still.

Everything slowed, her heart utterly racing, and Minerva swung, striking her open palm across his face as hard as she could. Tom reeled backward, stunned, and Minerva threw her weight to one side and attempted to sprint away. Running in heels, however, turned out to be even more of a challenge than walking, and momentum sent her stumbling. She reached out blindly toward the wall for support, hand scraping across the stones, still stinging from the slap she had delivered. Fingers wrapped around her arm though, tight and painful, and Minerva found herself pushed back against the wall so hard the wind was knocked out of her. Tom shook his head slowly, eyes hard and dangerous, the imprint of her hand glowing red on one cheek.

"That wasn't particularly polite."

Minerva swore under her breath, calling him every name she could think of, but Tom merely smiled again, a frightening face in the shadows. She struggled and fought against his hold, tearing her dress but making no other progress. If only she could take back her wand, then she would be able to hex him soundly. _But first she needed the wand_. This time instead of slapping, Minerva kicked out with one heeled foot, connecting with Tom's knee. He staggered a bit, biting back a hiss of pain, but he seemed more annoyed than anything else. Tom's face went blank, eyes cold as he finally tossed her wand aside and drew his own. Minerva listened to her wand roll away, stretching out in vain to grasp for the weapon she knew was far out of reach.

"Now," Tom murmured, tapping his wand against the wall beside her head, "I can't say I take kindly to refusals, Miss McGonagall."

"Then you'd better start learning to," Minerva spat.

Tom shook his head, sighing for good measure.

"Well, if you're not going to play nice, I don't see any reason why I should. _Petrificus_-"

Minerva wanted to shut her eyes, wanted to wince and look away, but she refused to allow herself to show even a hint of fear. She was a Gryffindor, and she was not afraid of anyone, not even Tom Riddle, who wore a mask of shadows in the torchlight. She would keep watching, keep glowering, even if he hexed her. But he never finished the spell.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Tom's wand flew out of his hand, tumbling through the air. Tom rolled his eyes, halfway turning to see who had dared intrude, and as he moved, his face collided with the fist of Alastor Moody.

"Get your hands off her!"

Tom crumpled immediately, hitting the floor as Alastor swore loudly and colorfully, and delivered a swift kick for good measure. His face had gone a shade past crimson, and Minerva had never seen him so utterly furious. Alastor spared only another second's glance for Tom though, face shifting, falling, as he turned towards Minerva.

"Are...you alright?"

"Fine," she murmured, voice far steadier than she felt, hands braced against the wall to keep her upright.

"He didn't...did he...you're sure?" Alastor asked, horror creeping into his expression as he took in the state of her.

"No, no," Minerva shook her head, breath coming in shallow, rapid gasps. Alastor had already begun to reach out, slowly, tentatively, as though unsure if he were allowed to do so, and if Minerva could have managed to push away from the wall she would have closed the distance for him. A bang echoed through the corridor though, and Alastor went down in a burst of red light.

"We were right in the middle of a conversation, Moody," Tom had regained both his footing and a wand, standing in a pool of torchlight on the opposite side of the hall. Between the imprint of Minerva's hand, and the rapidly reddening mark from Alastor's fist, Tom was beginning to look a bit battered, though nothing in his stance betrayed anything but the utmost calm. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that's it's rude to interrupt?"

Alastor groaned, pushing himself back to his feet, albeit with some help from Minerva. He shook his head a time or two, still disoriented as he raised his wand. For once, Minerva did not complain as he placed himself between her and Tom.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to hex someone from behind?"

"Just trying to get your attention. I feel as though you ought to leave," Tom said matter of factly. "Minerva and I were having a rather important discussion, you see."

"I'll kill you," Alastor growled, "I'll kill you if you touch her again."

Alastor had always been intimidating, but never more so than now, and Minerva had no trouble believing he meant exactly what he said. Tom, on the other hand, looked nothing more than interested, as though he had finally encountered a challenge worth his effort.

The air crackled, stiff and electric, even the noise of the party having vanished entirely, plunging the world into silence there on the edge. Minerva hated the sight of her wand in Tom Riddle's hands, hated being unarmed, and her fingers itched to find a weapon.

"_Diffindo!"_

"_Impedimenta!"_

The spells collided with each other, lighting the corridor in a blaze of blended colors, breaking the night. Tom frowned down at Minerva's wand, clearly displeased by the way the wand responded to him. In the moment's distraction, he failed to see Alastor's advance until too late. Abandoning all pretense of dueling, Alastor seized Tom by the front of his robes, slamming him against the wall with such force that the Slytherin boy's head cracked against the stones.

"Apologize," Alastor snarled, his wand pressed beneath Tom's chin.

"Whatever for?" Tom asked, his expression innocent even as he tried for another spell. Once more, the wand failed to work, knocking Alastor off balance for barely a second. Tom earned himself another painful-looking collision with the wall.

"Alastor, don't. He's not worth it," Minerva said, tugging on Alastor's sleeve in an effort to draw his attention away from Tom. Much as Minerva would not have minded seeing Tom Riddle hexed and beaten soundly, she did not want Alastor getting into trouble for such actions. Especially since Tom himself would probably like nothing more.

"He...but he," Alastor glanced from Minerva to Tom and back again, unwilling to back down, not yet.

"He's not worth getting into trouble over," Minerva insisted. As soon as she regained her wand, she intended to use a few choice hexes of her own, but that was another matter entirely. Alastor frowned, loosening his hold on Tom's robes with great hesitancy.

"She's called you off, Moody. Be a good boy and let go now," Tom said cooly.

This time when Alastor struck, Minerva felt rather confident he had broken Tom's nose. Glowering but seemingly satisfied, Alastor released Tom altogether, but not before whispering something in his ear. The words did not look to have been pleasant, and anyone but Tom Riddle might have begun to apologize or plead for mercy by this point. Instead, Tom's face remained impassive, or at least, the parts of his face not hidden by his hand remained impassive. He seemed to be trying to stop the bleeding, but Minerva's wand refused to perform the proper healing charm. For some reason, that thought was particularly satisfying.

"What's going on out here?"

Wand light flared from the opposite end of the corridor, announcing the arrival of Tobias Brown, the Head Boy. He must have been at the Christmas party, judging by his robes and his rather annoyed expression at having had his evening interrupted. Brown paused, taking in the scene. Unfortunately, Tom spoke up first, voice distorted by his broken nose.

"Moody seems to hab overreacted a bid. I was simply trying to return Miss McGonagall's wand."

Tom raised Minerva's wand as proof, which made for quite compelling evidence, especially since Alastor held Tom's wand in one clenched fist, and did in fact have a slight reputation for overreacting.

"Can't you go a day without picking fights with someone?" Brown asked wearily.

"He was helping me!" Minerva said, "Tom and I were...were having a disagreement."

A disagreement. Yes. That's precisely what it had been. Nothing more, so far as Tobias Brown was concerned.

"A disagreement that required Moody to break his nose?" Brown rolled his eyes. "I think not. Give him back his wand, please."

"Not til he gives Minerva hers," Alastor's voice was deathly quiet, fury evident in his features, though he seemed to be doing his best to restrain himself. Brown shrugged, motioning for Tom to return the wand.

Minerva snatched her wand away as soon as Tom held it out to her, clutching the object in both hands and ignoring the ghastly smile that stretched across Tom's pale and bloodied face. At Brown's insistence, Alastor tossed Tom's wand into the air.

"_Tergeo_," Tom caught and directed his wand at himself in the same smooth motion, cleaning the blood away, then adding an _Episkey _that straightened out his nose with a crack.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor," Brown declared, ignoring Alastor's shocked outcry and Minerva's stunned expression. "And five from Slytherin as well."

Tom had been in the middle of smoothing out his robes, but cast an irritated glance at the Head Boy at the loss of points from Slytherin House. The difference hardly seemed fair, but Brown liked to think his word was law, and arguing would do no good.

"I expect my date has grown anxious," Tom sighed, "I ought to get back to the party. Pleasure chatting with you both. Minerva, I'll be seeing you."

Alastor allowed Tom to pass, fists clenched at his sides. Tom paused to wave back at Minerva, but she gave no hint of an answer. Brown waited at the end of the hall, shaking his head again as he took hold of Tom's shoulder. Both boys disappeared around the corner, wand light disappearing with them, leaving Alastor and Minerva alone beneath the torchlight.

Alastor moved first, turning on his heels and taking her hand in his, his face no longer quite so furious. His hand shook, but Minerva chose not to mention that she had noticed. He studied her for a moment, red beginning to fade from his cheeks as he frowned down at her.

"Come on."

Shock had begun to settle over her now, a sick feeling curling in the pit of her stomach as a real understanding of the danger began to set in. The scene played back in her mind, sharp and jagged and painful, framed in torchlight and shadow. But the memory itself did not hurt quite so bad as the _could have beens_. What might have happened had Alastor not returned in time. Her breath caught in her throat again, and Alastor kept her close beside him as they walked, watching her worriedly. The staircase at the end of the corridor was manageable, but at the top Minerva began to feel lightheaded and dizzy, and she leaned into Alastor for support. Without speaking, he guided her to the first empty classroom along the hall.

Long, arched windows lined the room, bands of moonlight breaking across the darkness and falling in rows over the desks. Minerva stumbled forward, kicking off her heels as she moved, pressing her hands to the nearest desktop. Faintly she heard Alastor lock the door, distant over the noise of her shallow breathing and her racing heartbeat.

"It's alright," Alastor murmured, arms wrapping around her, turning her towards him, infinitely gentle, though he might have still been shaking a bit. She might have been shaking as well. "You're safe."

"He had my _wand_," Minerva said, as though this had been the gravest of offenses, some deep violation. She had a ridiculous urge to scrub her wand against her dress, to scrub away all trace of Tom's touch.

"I know. And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you, I shouldn't have gone back at all, Merlin, I'm sorry," Alastor sounded pained, his words tumbling out in a rush as his arms tightened around her. Minerva buried herself against him, fingers finding a gash in the front of his robes but no other signs of damage. Suddenly, the fact that her wand had refused to work for Tom seemed to be an even better thing.

"You couldn't have known," she breathed. "It's not your fault."

Alastor muttered some reply that had no doubt been both disbelieving and self-deprecating, but the words were too soft for her to hear.

"Maybe I did overreact a bit," Alastor spoke again, not even a hint of conviction behind his words. He had no idea what to say, Minerva realized. But then again, neither did she.

"No...no I don't think you did," she admitted, voice little more than a whisper. The memory of Tom's face, his icy touch, played out once again, and Minerva shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut. Alastor shifted his hold, drawing a slow, labored breath, and Minerva could feel his heart pounding against his chest.

"I'm sorry," Alastor murmured again, and Minerva glanced up, intending to tell him to please, stop apologizing, for Merlin's sake. He kissed her though, before she could speak, lips gently brushing across hers. For a moment he hesitated, eyes uncertain, but only for a moment, as Minerva's fingers tangled in his hair and he kissed her again, deeper this time. Moments passed in breaths and heartbeats, touch and taste and silvery moonlight. Then the image of a haunted, predatory face floated up in her mind, dark eyes and shadows, and Minerva broke away with a gasp.

"I can't."

She expected him to be surprised, to be hurt, but Alastor did not seem to be either. He looked embarrassed, if nothing else, as though worried he had done the wrong thing. When he started to pull away, mumbling apologies again, Minerva stopped him.

"Just...just hold me, alright?"

Determining which of them was more surprised to hear that phrase would have been difficult. Minerva never would have imagined herself suggesting something of that nature, but this was Alastor, and right now she needed him. His eyes widened a bit, but he asked no questions, instead simply taking her into his arms once again.

"I can do that."

An unspoken agreement passed between them, a promise that no mention would be made of this scene, here in the moonlit classroom. Minerva, after all, was not supposed to be holding tightly to anyone, or feeling slightly sick, or, Merlin forbid, frightened. Not to mention Alastor, with all his gruffness, was certainly not supposed to be holding her gently, his chin resting atop her hair as he murmured apologies and Merlin knew what else. She had wanted a kiss to end the evening, to be certain, but not like this. Not like this.

All the world fell quiet again, clouds shifting through the moonlight and casting odd shapes across the room. They stood in front of the first row of desks, arms wrapped around each other, waiting as first Alastor's, then Minerva's heartbeat finally began to calm. Minerva took a few deep, shuddering breaths, because of all the things that had happened tonight, she at least refused to cry. Not that Alastor would have minded. His own eyes had been closed for some time now, squeezed shut as though he was in pain.

"Constant vigilance," Alastor snorted at last. "Managed to bugger that up, didn't I?"

"At least you didn't have your wand stolen," Minerva murmured, slipping her hand through the tear in the front of his robes, fingers finding the soft fabric of the shirt beneath. "Your robes seem to be ripped, though."

"Better mine than yours," he grumbled, wincing as he glanced down at her torn dress. "I'm sorry, I'd forgotten, I didn't mean....I'll kill him for that."

The last words were a growl, and suddenly Alastor was glowering again.

"He didn't...I mean, I was trying to get away, and it sort of ripped in the process. Not on purpose," Minerva explained. "I hit him, you know."

"Did you?" Alastor looked pleased to hear that. "Should have known better than to mess with you."

"Yes, well. Without a wand, I wasn't making all that much progress," Minerva said dryly, hands wrapped around the front of his robes as she shifted her gaze toward one of the wide windows. She hated to admit that possibly, maybe, she might have lost that fight.

"I didn't even think to scream, not until too late."

"Can't imagine you screaming anyway," Alastor muttered. She could not see his face, but his tone suggested he was trying to manage a smile.

"Yes, well, neither could I. Clearly that didn't work out too entirely well," Minerva replied, arching an eyebrow as she turned her gaze back to Alastor. He winced again, and his shoulders slumped visibly.

"I really am-" Alastor's eyes fell to the floor as he began to apologize for what felt like the millionth time.

"Sorry. Yes. I know," Minerva placed both hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her, "So hush."

Before he could decide to argue or apologize further, Minerva occupied his mouth with hers. The kiss was brief, all that she could manage just now, both of them disappointed when she had to pull away. Alastor recovered quickly though, eyes still half-closed as he nodded again, beginning to look less defeated at least. One of his hands worked loose her hair, freeing her curls, slowly at first, until she made no move to protest. The other hand trailed down her back, soft and gentle, drawing her closer still.

Minerva pressed her cheek against his chest, eyes closed, breathing deep and calm at last. Her fingers found their way upward, playing at the fringes of his hair.

"Thank you," she murmured, and then, in case he mistook her meaning, added, "For...for coming back, when you did."

Alastor sucked in a sharp breath, red beginning to creep into his face again.

"Never been more scared in my life."

He had been looking down as he spoke, hair hanging in his face, and the words were soft, a pained confession in the moonlight. Minerva reached out, brushing his hair out of the way and pressing a kiss to his forehead. She wanted to say how frightened she had been, how thrilled to see him, but the words refused to come. Alastor seemed to understand though, smiling as he kissed her lightly, leaning away just as quickly. Minerva traced her hand along his cheek, meeting his sad, halfway smile with her own. They held each other close, Alastor's arms warm and safe and strong, his heartbeat racing in time with hers, and at last the chilling memory of Tom Riddle began to fade like clouds over the moon.

* * *

_Reviews have lots of amazing powers - they bring balance to the Force, they make Fox an exceedingly happy person, etc. Hintedy-hint-hint *wink*_


	18. Stargazing

A/N - Firstly, I'd like to say thanks very, very much to all my awesome reviewers! You guys rock, for sure. =D

We're moving ahead a bit in story-time, all the way to the night before Christmas holidays. Let's see how everything's going with our heroes, shall we?

* * *

Alastor woke with a start, shaking and sweating, pressing his palms against his eyes and waiting for the dream to fade, begging for the images to stop. Deep, gulping breaths failed to calm him, and he roughly shoved at the bed curtains, desperate for a break in the darkness that surrounded him, threatened to consume him. Soft light glowed in the window, cool air chilling his skin, banishing the last memories of the dream like phantoms in the night. No one else stirred in the room, not even Tiberius in the next bed over, who usually had a knack for knowing when someone had woken up. His heartbeat at last returned to normal, no longer threatening to pound through his chest, but Alastor could not begin to entertain the thought of going back to sleep. Even glancing down at his pillow sent a wave of apprehension crashing over him, because sleep brought dreams, horrible dreams that had only grown worse since the night of the Christmas party.

Resigned to yet another sleepless night, Alastor freed himself from the tangled sheets, reaching for his wand on the nightstand. The floor felt frigid against his bare feet, but a quick summoning charm failed to yield any socks, so Alastor decided to go without. Perhaps the cold would help keep him awake, at least. Creeping towards the foot of the bed, careful to avoid the floorboard that always squeaked, Alastor paused to open his trunk. The click of the lock rang loud in the silent dormitory, and Alastor froze, holding his breath and hoping no one had heard him moving about. He had been sneaking out for days already, but luck would have him be caught the night before the end of term.

Thankfully, seconds passed and no one stirred. Slowly he opened the lid, just enough to slip his arm inside, digging around until his fingers found the soft, liquid-like material for which he had been searching. With infinite care, he drew out his father's Invisibility Cloak.

Alastor had not initially wanted to accept the cloak, and still could not quite ignore the heavy ache in his chest every time he used the thing. But the will had been clear, and Uncle Declan had suggested the cloak might be useful at school (he had of course suggested this outside the presence of any other adults). The cloak had evidently seen some action in Egypt or whatever battle field required colonels to be invisible, because there were small, ragged holes in several places that Uncle Declan claimed had been caused by Muggle bullets. This particular suggestion had in turn caused some great and horrible panic, because Alastor certainly did not want the cloak if his father had been wearing it when he was killed. With an odd, closed look on his face, Declan had assured him that the bullets had had nothing to do with that, and that the cloak could probably be repaired. Until then, even with the holes it ought to work fine.

Stuffing the cloak into the bottom of his trunk seemed like the proper thing to do, and Alastor had done exactly that. He had almost managed to forget about the cloak entirely, at least until the nightmares started. Some nights he would simply go sit in the common room, staring at the fire until his eyes burned and sleep finally overwhelmed him. Most nights though he took the cloak and wandered about the castle in an effort to clear his head. Just as Declan had predicted, even with the bullet holes, the magic remained intact, and Alastor had not yet been caught. After the incident with Tom Riddle, he had entertained the thought of sneaking into the Slytherin dormitory and settling that particular matter. Unfortunately, he was not entirely sure where the entrance might be, and thus the last few nights had been spent investigating the dungeons in search of the doorway. Tonight, with any luck, he would find the place.

As he shook out the cloak, careful to keep his fingers from catching in any of the holes, something small and metal-sounding fell to the floor. In the darkness, Alastor could not properly see what the object was, and he spent a moment or two searching on his hands and knees before he managed to find it. _Minerva's Christmas gift_, he realized as he hastily moved into the light, checking to make sure no damage had been done. Everything still seemed to be alright, and he Vanished the gift, greatly relieved.

Slipping on the cloak, Alastor opened the door and stepped out into the dark hall, careful not to make too much noise. The stairs creaked and groaned beneath his footsteps, but the stairs were always noisy, and besides, the house elves could always be blamed for that. The common room appeared quite empty, not that that mattered with him being invisible, but Alastor still liked to be careful. He glanced over his shoulder out of habit, just to be sure no one had followed him downstairs, and managed to bump into something quite solid.

"Who's there?"

He froze, eyes widening as he recognized the voice. Chancing a step backwards, he turned to find Minerva, frowning and wand raised. She had been making occasional appearances in the common room by night as well, though hers were far less frequent. Alastor could not tell whether she herself was also having nightmares, or if she had simply decided to keep him company, and he had never been able to bring himself to ask either way. He had been hoping to give her the Christmas gift on one of these occasions, but she had been absent the last few nights, and in his newfound determination to find the Slytherin common room Alastor had entirely forgotten that she might actually turn up. He swore under his breath, quietly as humanly possible and hoping perhaps she would to go one about her business.

"Show yourself," Minerva said, every inch the prefect, even in her nightdress.

She had moved to stand between him and the door, so unless Alastor intended to climb over a couple of chairs he was quite effectively trapped. He decided he ought to surrender, before she actually decided to hex him.

"Alright, alright. Just wait a moment."

Alastor pulled away the cloak, grinning in spite of himself at her shocked face.

"What are you...where in Merlin's name did you get that?" Minerva asked.

"Was my da's," Alastor said shortly. He had learned by now that mentioning his father in conversation virtually guaranteed a change of subject. Fortunately, tonight was no exception.

"And where exactly were you planning on going?"

Admitting that he had been trying to sneak into the Slytherin dormitory did not exactly seem like the ideal response at this point, even considering the chance that Minerva might actually support that idea. She seemed to have put the incident more or less behind her, at least publicly, and had on several occasions asked that Alastor and Tiberius stop following her around. The boys had of course ignored this request, but they had been a bit stealthier about the matter after that, especially when Minerva started threatening to hex them.

"Just...out for a walk," he said instead.

"Really?" Minerva asked, looking and sounding less than convinced.

"Used to go out for walks all the time, didn't we?"

"Well...yes," Minerva allowed. "But there's usually not someone running about petrifying students at random."

Three days ago, four panicked first years had found Tobias Brown petrified in the Charms corridor, a terrified look frozen on his face. Alastor had never much cared for Brown, and had in fact meant to speak with the Head Boy about his dealing with the situation involving Tom Riddle. Still, the attack had rather dampened everyone's already-dismal Christmas spirit, and the vast majority of students had become rather keen to be going home.

"Not really at random," Alastor pointed out, "They've all been Muggleborns, haven't they?"

Minerva frowned at him, but Alastor went on. The pattern of attacks had begun to earn his interest, and Alastor figured he ought to be sure the facts were kept straight. Besides, he liked to solve things before Minerva. Doing so never failed to irritate her.

"It's true! Gabriel is, so's that Hitchens girl. Brown is too, I heard the Hufflepuffs talking about it after Charms."

"Well, if the Hufflepuffs are saying it, it must be true," Minerva muttered, rolling her eyes.

Alastor scowled now, failing to see why she felt the need to argue over this subject.

"What's it matter if they are or not? Not like that puts you in any sort of danger."

His tone had perhaps been less than ideal, or maybe his expression, because Minerva failed to find this comment as comforting as he had hoped.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Minerva's eyes narrowed as she waited for his response. Alastor began to wish he had just stayed in bed and stared at the ceiling for a few hours. In fact, perhaps he ought to throw on the cloak and make a hasty retreat now...but she could follow him up the stairs...rubbish.

"Nothing bad, if that's what you're thinking. Just that you're a...well, you're not a Muggleborn, so I don't see why it matters."

"Has it occurred to you that maybe I'm worried about someone besides myself? Perhaps all my Muggleborn friends?" Minerva asked.

Having honestly not reached that thought at all, Alastor decided to stay silent and treat that as a rhetorical question.

"And for your information, Tobias Brown was a half-blood."

Alastor meant to reply, perhaps blame the Hufflepuffs for the misinformation, but then the meaning of her words began to sink in and his mind went momentarily blank. _Tobias Brown was a half-blood._ Oh. That might prove problematic.

"Well. Thank you for giving me one more thing to worry about," Alastor muttered. "'Preciate that."

"All I was saying is that _I'm_ worried about _you_," Minerva sighed, trying not to roll her eyes again. "And maybe that you ought to be more careful."

"I'm incredibly careful," Alastor insisted, lifting the cloak in one hand as proof. "See? Hard to hex me if they can't see me."

"I suppose..." Minerva said. She still seemed doubtful about the whole business, and Alastor prepared to be lectured. He slipped his hands into his pockets, supposing he had rather earned a lecture, when a sudden, much better idea occurred to him. Now seemed like an excellent occasion to take care of that gift business, with the added bonus of being private. Having expected to have to give her the thing at the station tomorrow, Alastor found himself rather pleased with this alternative. Murmuring a quick spell under his breath, the gift appeared in his pocket, cold against his fingers. Perfect.

"Would you care to join me?"

Minerva had indeed been preparing to speak, but instead she watched him for a moment, uncertain and thoroughly caught off guard.

"On my walk, I mean," Alastor explained, grinning crookedly.

"It's rather late..."

"Not like we haven't stayed up later before. Besides, you're going home tomorrow, not like there's classes or anything."

"And that lovely conversation about petrified students has certainly put me in the mood to roam a dark castle," Minerva muttered.

Despite her casual protests, she was beginning to look interested.

"I'll protect you," Alastor said with a wink.

"Who says I need protecting?" Minerva countered, an edge of offense in her tone.

"Well you know. There's the mad fellow who's out there petrifying people. Not to mention now we've got to keep a watch out for Riddle..."

"Thought we'd agreed not to mention that," Minerva said tightly.

"I thought, since it was just us," Alastor rushed over the words, sincerely hoping he had not upset her and spoiled his chance.

"Still. I'd rather not."

"Ah...right. Sorry," Alastor said, dropping his gaze to the floor.

Minerva stayed quiet, and Alastor feared he really had upset her. Then, when she did not leave or storm away or tell him off immediately, he glanced up and realized that she was in fact waiting.

"Well, are you planning to begin this trek anytime soon?"

"Just waiting for you," Alastor said, grinning again.

He pulled the cloak over himself, holding enough up for Minerva to still see him.

"Are we both going to fit?" she asked, looking doubtful.

"Course we are," Alastor snorted. "The magic's designed to have a bit of give. Unless you have trouble with being a bit cozy."

The last had been mostly a joke, but also a sort of question. He had not tried to kiss her again, not since the night of the party. There had certainly been times he had wanted to, if for nothing more than to try and be comforting, and in some cases because he himself could have used a kiss or two. Mostly he had to settle for holding her, and even some nights she kept her distance at the far end of the sofa. Those nights only increased Alastor's desire to beat a lesson into Tom Riddle, and they always made his heart ache in an odd sort of way. Not that he would have mentioned that latter part to anyone.

Minerva seemed to take the comment as some sort of challenge, because she grinned for the first time all night and slipped beneath the cloak, fingers trailing over the liquid-like material. She shifted so that she stood rather close indeed, and she must have done so on purpose, based on the smirk she was wearing.

"Where to, milady?" Alastor asked, letting the cloak fall around them.

"No place in particular," Minerva answered after a moment's thought, "We've got plenty of time."

"I'd say we certainly do," Alastor agreed, "All the way til morning."

* * *

The tour consisted of a walk past the Defense and Transfiguration classrooms, all of which were either locked or empty, much to their disappointment. The Charms corridor was expressly avoided, even though no writing had been found with Tobias Brown. For the same reason, the fourth floor hall where Gabriel had been attacked was avoided as well. All these petrifying attacks had really begun to cut down on safe parts of the castle. Alastor elected to stay away from the dungeons tonight, given the company. He had all of Christmas holidays to find the blasted common room anyway. Minerva continued to be slightly amazed at the work of the Invisibility Cloak, waving her hand at portraits now and again, just to be sure of the magic. Her finger slipped through a hole once, but she freed herself easily and asked no questions, which was really just as well. The Bloody Baron, Slytherin's house ghost, glided past them at one point, nearly invisible himself. He vanished through a nearby wall, probably to make sure Peeves the Poltergeist was staying out of trouble. Based on the relative silence of the castle, Alastor felt fairly confident that Peeves had been less than active this night.

Nothing particularly interesting presented itself, just a great deal of sleeping portraits and the occasional ghost. Not even Pringle made an appearance, which really was likely more of a good thing but still would have added a nice sense of excitement, in Alastor's opinion. He said as much, and surprisingly Minerva had agreed. There had been a good deal of laughing and joking after that, hushed and whispered so as not to actually draw any attention. Somewhere along the Defense corridor, she had taken his hand, and their fingers had been entwined ever since.

"Any place else you'd care to visit?" Minerva asked, voice hushed.

They had been walking for some time at that point, and Alastor's feet had long since gone from being chilled to just shy of frozen. Still, he had one last place he wanted to go – a perfect place, really, to be giving gifts and such.

"Matter of fact, there is," Alastor murmured. "Come on."

They cut through two side corridors and climbed a rather long staircase before they reached the base of the Astronomy Tower. Once safely in the staircase that led to the top, Alastor checked to make sure no one had followed and slipped out from beneath the cloak, leading Minerva out as well.

"No sense being invisible if no one's here to see us," he explained as Minerva frowned at him.

"What if there is someone up here?" she asked.

"Then I'll go back to being invisible, and the Gryffindor prefect can chase them off."

"I'm sure I look incredibly intimidating in my nightdress," Minerva muttered, raising an eyebrow at him.

"You always look intimidating. Plus you've got your glasses and you can do that glare, that always helps," Alastor offered. He reached the top of the stairs first, tugging the iron handle with one hand. The door, however, remained quite shut.

"I think that was a compliment," Minerva said, mostly talking to herself.

"It was," Alastor murmured, unsealing the lock with his wand and finally pulling the door open, "I assure you."

Cold air greeted them, the night breeze blowing off the parapets. The snow had been cleared away, probably charmed to keep the Astronomy classes from injuring themselves. Minerva cast a quick warming charm on both of them, then moved to stand at the edge of the wall, leaning over to look out at the grounds beyond. Alastor shut the door again, adding a complicated locking spell for good measure, and set the Invisibility Cloak down beside the door.

Velvet sky stretched overhead, inky black and ablaze with starlight, a crescent moon smiling down from above the Forbidden Forest. White snow covered the world beneath, glowing silver in the night. Minerva stood balanced between the two, framed in starlight, dark hair dancing in the breeze. Everything felt light and clean and weightless, as though he had stepped out into a dream.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she asked.

"Certainly is," Alastor agreed, moving to stand beside her.

Her arms lay crossed atop the wall, and Alastor covered the nearest hand with his own. Minerva smiled at him, glasses glowing in the starlight, and Alastor felt his heartbeat skip around a bit. He shifted his gaze back out toward the forest, before he tried to kiss her.

"You remember any of these?" Minerva asked, gesturing out at the sky. The stars hung so close that Alastor thought, for one fanciful moment, that she might reach out and touch them. "The constellations I mean."

"Oh, sure," Alastor replied. He frowned in concentration, scanning for the stars he could recall from Astronomy, which consisted of most of the bright ones, really. "There's the big dog."

"Several ancient Romans just had fits, I think."

"Greeks," Alastor said, shaking his head, "I prefer to think I'm giving the Greeks fits."

"Whatever makes you feel better," Minerva laughed. "Have you got names like that for all of them then?"

"Well...the hunter fellow. Orion. I remember his name."

"You would," Minerva replied, leaning past him now to point out the stars along Orion's belt, tracing the line with one finger. Alastor took the opportunity to slip his arm around her, which she did not seem to mind.

"And there's Perseus," Alastor pointed at another cluster of stars, "He's a hero and all."

"Is he now?" Minerva asked.

Being that Minerva tended to know more about mythology stories than most Ravenclaws, Alastor felt rather confident she was merely playing along. Still, he supposed he could play along as well.

"Killed Medusa, rescued a princess, that sort of thing. Easy stuff."

"Easy?" Minerva asked, raising her eyebrows. "Someone's a tad overconfident."

"Hmph. Rescued you, didn't I?" Alastor countered. He regretted the question almost immediately, because Minerva stiffened but did not, thankfully, pull away. Rather than say anything else incredibly stupid, he kept silent, waiting and he hoping that she did not hex him.

"Suppose you did," Minerva whispered.

Alastor breathed a sigh of relief, and added a silent _thank you_ for good measure.

"It expect it'll be quiet here over Christmas," he said, eager to change the subject and move on as quickly as possible.

"I wish you weren't staying," Minerva replied, sighing.

"Supposed to be safe here, from the war and all," Alastor said, adding a shrug for good measure, "Expect there'll be a fair amount of people staying besides me."

"Still. I believe I'll miss you."

"I appreciate that," Alastor murmured, slowly reaching into into his pocket once more. "Not like we could have visited anyway, what with you being er..."

"In trouble? Dealing with furious parents?" Minerva suggested. "Yes, I'm aware of that."

Alastor took a deep breath, deciding now would be as good a time as any.

"What if I give you something then, to keep me close?"

Minerva tilted her head at him, frowning confusedly until he drew the gift from his pocket. The gold chain shimmered in the night, the locket at the end burning like a fallen star in the palm of his hand.

"Alastor!" Minerva gasped. "It's beautiful!"

He grinned, pleased by her reaction and ignoring the fact that his face had begun to go red.

"Does that mean you like it?"

"Well naturally," she breathed, reaching out to take the locket tentatively. A flash of uncertainty crossed her face for a moment though. "But I haven't gotten you anything."

"That's alright," Alastor assured her. "This is something...I just wanted you to...have it."

Minerva smiled wryly at him, fingers opening the locket with infinite care. Music floated out into the night, pipes and drums and all, a bright, happy tune.

"Oh! But...there's nothing inside," Minerva replied, closing the locket once more, the music vanishing abruptly.

"Ah...couldn't really think of what to put in, besides the music," Alastor admitted sheepishly.

"Perhaps a picture?" Minerva suggested, "Maybe of yourself...?"

Alastor snorted and shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

"Dunno why you'd want that. Not all that good-looking."

That comment earned him a smack to the shoulder and a gentle, if pointed, look.

"I happen to like the way you look."

"I think you're biased," Alastor whispered, as though passing some grave secret.

"Possibly," Minerva agreed, holding up the locket in one hand and sweeping up her hair with the other. "Would you care to do the honors?"

She turned away, locket still held aloft, and Alastor panicked, but only for a moment. Charming the tiny thing had been difficult enough. Actually working the clasp might prove to be a bit more of a challenge. He managed in two tries though, much to his own surprise.

"There you go."

"Wonderful," Minerva turned back towards him, still looking down at the locket with an enormous smile on her face. "It's wonderful."

"Yes, so...anytime you ah...you miss me...feel the need to see me or whatnot...just, sort of give it a squeeze," Alastor explained, face going redder with every word.

Minerva glanced up at him, a shrewd look on her face.

"Have you charmed it?"

"I...what?" Alastor asked. The honest answer would of course be _yes, of course he had_, but he had been a bit worried that she would not take the locket if he told her so. Really he had meant to give her the thing for Christmas anyway. The charms had only been an idea added later, after the party.

"Course I did. How do you think I got it to play music?"

He added a laugh for good measure, but he and Minerva both knew he had more or less skirted around her question. She watched him for another moment, trying to read an answer in his face, but Alastor made sure not to give anything away. At least, not on purpose. The tactic seemed to work, because her smile returned again after a moment, seemingly satisfied as she threw her arms around his neck.

"Ah...Happy Christmas then," Alastor said.

"It's not Christmas yet," Minerva pointed out, leaning back just enough to smirk at him. That seemed to be a recurring pattern this evening, all that smirking.

"Happy _almost_ Christmas, how's that?" Alastor tried again.

"I think that sounds just fine."

Minerva rested her head against his chest, fingers toying with the locket around her neck.

"So...what exactly are we?" she asked after a moment.

A sudden stab of icy coldness jolted through him, one that had nothing to do with the weather. Alastor had a horrible feeling he knew what she was asking, but decided to attempt to dodge the question anyway.

"Well, I am a wizard, and-"

Minerva shook her head, glancing sideways up at him and motioning between them.

"No, I meant...us. This."

"Oh."

She had meant exactly what he thought. Rubbish.

"We were friends," Minerva went on, sounding as though she were working out an Arithmancy problem. "That's an easy one."

"Still friends, aren't we?" Alastor asked, frowning.

He had been rather glad to see everything go back to normal after all that business with Bell McKinnon. Well, normal aside from the kissing. That had been new, though admittedly rather limited due to various interruptive circumstances.

"Yes. But you don't see me see me sneaking off to the Astronomy Tower with, say, Tiberius, do you?" Minerva countered, speaking in measured tones. Yes, she had entered full-out professor mode now. There would be no stopping her.

"I'd certainly hope not," Alastor grumbled, bristling at the very thought.

"Exactly," Minerva sighed.

She turned to face him now, waiting, an expectant look on her face that clearly suggested she had done her share of the work and that Alastor was supposed to finish this problem. His eyes darted away, tracing patterns in the stars as he struggled with himself. He might have been frowning, and he felt a bit dizzy, not to mention Minerva could probably tell that his heart was racing by now. Alastor had realized months ago what, exactly what he felt about all this, and he already thought himself a bit mental for even entertaining the thought, much less putting a name to it. But after the confrontation with Riddle, and especially after the moments in the moonlit classroom afterward, the last doubts had vanished.

"Think I might...love you," he murmured at last, halfway expecting Minerva to tell him to stop making jokes. To his great surprise, she did not.

"You _think_ you _might_?" Minerva asked, raising her eyebrows. Her face had begun to go a bit pink, her fingers finding their way to his hair.

Alastor cleared his throat, face burning by this point and the words lurking, waiting. If he spoke them, though, everything could change. Everything would change. But Minerva stood waiting, watching him, and Alastor let the words tumble out, hoping he had not quite stepped off the cliff he thought he had.

"I...no, I know. I love you."

Minerva's smile managed to be encouraging, even if her next words were not.

"Well...that doesn't exactly answer the question."

He had never fallen from any great height, but he imagined the sudden plunge his stomach had taken rather imitated the feeling.

"And that isn't exactly the ideal response to my statement," Alastor grumbled, fighting back the panic that lurked at the edges, taunting and laughing at him.

"Oh, hush. Of course I love you," Minerva said matter of factly.

Alastor gaped at her for a moment, not entirely believing what he had heard. He had begun to hope, of course, but he had never quite managed to convince himself that she might really...Oh, Merlin. She smiled at him again, beautiful in the starlight, and Alastor had never felt so thrilled in all his life. His face broke into a wide grin, and he meant to say something, but his mind rather failed to produce words. There was only a delirious sort of happiness, the phrase _"She loves me"_ repeating itself on an endless loop. Without really thinking, he kissed her softly, there atop the tower, sky above and earth below. The small, still-vaguely-rational part of his mind suggested he ought to keep all kissing quick and light, given the recent trend. When he pulled away though, Minerva caught him behind the neck, holding their faces barely apart.

"I...er...sorry, I sort of-" Alastor frowned and fumbled, fearing that he had gone and messed up what had, for a fleeting space, been an utterly perfect moment.

Before he could embarrass himself further, Minerva, sighed, rolled her eyes, and kissed him soundly. He meant to make sure this sort of thing was alright, but by that point they had gone from soft kissing to much more emphatic kissing, and he took that to mean that this was just fine.

The stars watched overhead, the moon smiling down on them in the night. Alastor turned, pulling her closer to him as he leaned against the parapet, ignoring the dig of stone against his back. The whole castle could have come tumbling down, and he would not have noticed. All that existed in the world was Minerva, her mouth on his, her hands tangled in his hair, moving in small circles. Everything glowed white-hot and wonderful, and for the first time in weeks, everything felt right and happy and beautiful again.

"Merlin," Minerva breathed, forehead pressed against his. "Now I think I'll miss you even more."

Her glasses had fogged over, which Alastor found highly amusing. Had he properly caught his breath, he might have laughed.

"You could always stay here," he suggested.

"Wouldn't exactly be fitting with my punishment," Minerva muttered ruefully.

"I'll make it up to you then," Alastor promised, "Soon as you get back."

Minerva seemed satisfied enough with that, kissing her way along his jaw until she reached the place just below his ear that made him gasp.

"You'll be safe, won't you?" she asked. Alastor rather failed to see how precisely she was managing coherent thought at this point, much less coherent conversation, but decided to make an effort as well.

"Course I will," he rumbled. "I'm always safe."

"No," Minerva sighed, shaking her head and rubbing her thumb across his cheek, "you're not. Not that it makes me love you any less. Just worry more."

As soon as the word "love" had been used in the sentence, Alastor rather stopped paying attention as his heart beat funny again and his mind went more than a bit fuzzy. He knew, at least, that he was grinning, and he thought he might have managed to nod in agreement. Then they were kissing again, eyes closed and bodies pressed close, immune to the cold and the chill night wind, and Alastor had the good sense not to mention that he would soon be settling scores with Tom Riddle.

* * *

_Adorableness brought to you in part by...well, the story could always use some adorableness, especially given what's happened thus far. And what's about to happen fairly soon...Alastor is, after all, set on revenge. *cues the dramatic music* Reviews are loved, appreciated, enjoyed, and slightly addictive! =D_


	19. Allied Powers

A/N - 60 reviews! You guys rock - thanks very, very much! =D

* * *

Steam billowed across the platform, students fading into silhouette and shadow as they dashed to board the train. Alastor waited with Tiberius, Donald, and Geoffery, quite possibly the only four people who were actually standing still. Of course, had there not been the incentive to say goodbye to Minerva, Alastor probably would not have come at all, and he was sure to mention this several times, just in case anyone decided to accuse him of wishing to go home after all. The farewells had been going rather nicely indeed, until Minerva had been called away on prefect duty, some rubbish about escorting first years. This left Alastor in a slightly less than cheerful mood, one unaided by the fact that Tiberius seemed to have talked his way out of any sort of responsibility, as usual.

"Just saying, you could have volunteered," Alastor grumbled for the third time.

Donald and Geoffery both pretended not to have heard. Tiberius just sighed wearily.

"I dinnae know they'd make her do it, did I? Nor did I know that you two were busy."

Alastor thought about hexing Tiberius for that, then decided he would wait until another occasion with fewer witnesses. Not that Donald or Geoffery would have complained, but anyone could be lurking in a cloud of steam, all but hidden. That particular thought was rather unnerving and sent a chill dancing down his spine.

"You find everything, then?" Alastor asked, diverting back to the original subject.

His friends might all be going home for the holidays, but Alastor had rather effectively persuaded them into helping all the same. Not that much persuading had been required, really. As soon as Alastor had explained precisely why he needed to find the Slytherin common room, Geoffery and Donald had been quite eager to assist in any way possible.

"For some reason there don't appear to be many maps available. You might talk to David Dearborn, he's been working at trying to come up with one," Donald suggested. "I was also able to locate a general plan of the castle on which the Slytherin common room seems to be indicated."

At that, Donald began digging through the bag at his side, glasses perilously close to falling off the end of his nose. Over the last few weeks, Donald had begun to look marginally more well rested, though that was not saying much. He still appeared more pale and drawn then usual, painfully thin for a nearly-seventeen-year-old boy. Alastor kept meaning to talk to him about the Divination business, but he had yet to manage to do so.

"You sure you know what you're doing?" Tiberius asked, keeping his voice low.

"Course I do," Alastor muttered.

He meant to continue, but Donald finally succeeded in retrieving a rather worn looking parchment from his bag.

"I can't attest to the accuracy, but it's the best I can do," Donald said, shoving the parchment in Alastor's direction.

Though crumpled, the map inked along the page turned out to be mostly readable. The words scrawled in various places looked to be a bit trickier, and Alastor rolled the parchment back up, stuffing it in his pocket to work out later.

"W-won't do you much g-good without the p-password," Geoffery pointed out, looking as though he very much wished not to be the one voicing that particular observation. Well aware of his plan's shortcomings, Alastor took the comment in stride - namely, by bluffing spectacularly.

"Already got that bit figured out."

Geoffery grinned, apparently relieved, but Donald and Tiberius frowned first at Alastor, then at Geoffery. Thankfully, neither of them decided to argue.

"Well, we'd b-better get going then," Geoffery said, gesturing back toward the train. Or at least, where the train was supposed to be. Another thick bank of steam had rolled through, all but blocking the scarlet engine from sight. "Happy Christmas, a-and good l-luck."

"Same to you. Only...I suppose 'thanks' instead of 'good luck,'" Alastor allowed after a moment's thought.

"Anything to h-help," Geoffery insisted, suddenly grave, an odd look on his boyish face, "T-teach him a l-lesson."

"I intend to," Alastor said, smiling grimly in answer.

"And at least try not to get into too much trouble," Donald requested, "though I suppose this counts as an extenuating circumstance."

"I rather think so," Alastor agreed.

He shook hands with Donald and Geoffery, bid them a 'Happy Christmas' once more, and then watched them vanish into the steam. A whistle blew from the engine somewhere to the right, loud and shrill over the noise of the platform, but still Tiberius stayed in place.

"You donnae have tha password, do you?"

"No. No I do not."

"Merlin," Tiberius sighed, frowning and kicking at the ground with the toe of his shoe. "Alastor, I donnae like this."

"You think I ought to just let this go?" Alastor asked. He managed to keep his voice level despite the fact that his temper had flared alarmingly at the very suggestion.

"Dinnae say that. If I was here, I'd help you. You know that," Tiberius said, tone and face firm and frowning. "But I'm goin' ta be all tha way across tha bloody ocean. Cannae exactly help you from there."

"I won't need help," Alastor assured him, "I'll find someone here to make use of. Stand them up as a lookout or something."

"While you stage a one-man assault on Slytherin House?"

"I'd hate to have to share the glory, you see."

"Stuff of Hogwarts legend, that'd be," Tiberius said, "Probably write songs about you and all sorts of rubbish like that."

"Long as they don't refer to me as 'Al'," Alastor replied. "I don't mind having my praises sung."

"What about 'Ally'?" Tiberius asked. This time Alastor did punch him in the shoulder. "For purposes o' flow and whatnot. Has ta rhyme and all."

"No song is worth that," Alastor said, shuddering.

Still, he could not quite stifle his laugh at the ridiculousness of the idea. Tiberius, too, was laughing, though the sound was drowned out by another warning whistle from the train. Students began to vanish from the platform at an alarming rate, as though the steam had swallowed them whole.

"You'll be careful, at least?" Tiberius asked, all grave seriousness once again.

"Probably," Alastor replied. "He's only one fellow."

"He's never one fellow," Tiberius argued, shaking his head. "Always got his little band of followers about."

"Makes it even more fun then."

"I'm being serious," Tiberius said, rolling his eyes.

Alastor considered antagonizing him a bit more, but the train really was about to leave, and Tiberius really did look genuinely worried, which was a rather rare occurrence.

"I'll be careful," he promised. "I'll owl you when it's done."

"And we never speak of this ta Minerva," Tiberius repeated back part of the original plan they had settled upon several days ago.

Merlin, but Minerva would probably skin them both alive if she found out about this. No, she would transfigure them into some sort of animal, and then skin them alive. Either way, Alastor rather preferred the plan that ended with him staying in more or less one piece.

"Never. And you'll be with her on the train?"

"Soon as I leave you, I'll find her. Wonnae let her out of my sight til she finds her parents at Kings' Cross," Tiberius assured him.

The final warning whistle blew, and the steam began to thicken as the train prepared to leave. Trying to keep from coughing in the heavy cloud, Alastor and Tiberius shook hands and said their last goodbyes, accompanied by an exchange of "good luck", "Happy Christmas", and "I expect a souvenir." With one final wave, and one final plea for caution, Tiberius dashed away toward the train, a towering shadow that thinned and then disappeared entirely in the fog.

Alastor stood with his hands in his pockets, not intending to wave if no one would be able to see him. The pistons engaged, train wheels spinning to life in a whir of metal and gears, and then the Hogwarts Express slipped away from the station, crowned in fog and steam and snow in the early morning light.

The train began moving before Tiberius actually reached his seat, so he spent a good deal of time walking with his hands braced against the walls. The roof had apparently not been constructed with someone of his height in mind, because his neck did not appreciate the current angle it had been forced to take. Perhaps he ought to complain to someone at the school about that.

* * *

He found Minerva already seated safely in a compartment, listening to Geoffery stammer his way through what was meant to be some humorous story. She seemed to be mostly paying attention, though her eyes kept straying toward the window and her fingers toyed with the locket around her neck. Tiberius felt reasonably confident that the locket had been a gift from Alastor, and he also had a feeling he knew more about the thing than she did, and had thus decided to leave the matter completely unmentioned. Instead he turned his attention to Donald, who had already occupied himself with a painfully large book.

"Donny. You busy?"

"Terribly," was the reply.

"We'll be right back then," Tiberius said, tugging on Donald's sleeve and smiling for the benefit of the other two in the compartment. Minerva just shrugged, and Geoffery seemed not to have noticed that anyone else had spoken. With a tremendous and far too over-dramatic sigh, Donald closed his book and set it on the bench beside him. Tiberius allowed him to exit first, just in case he tried to change his mind. Closing the door with great care, Tiberius then pushed Donald along into the next empty compartment he could find. This time, he locked the door.

"What do you think about all this?"

"All what?" Donald asked, leaning against the wall. "Going home for Christmas?"

"Tha business with Tom Riddle," Tiberius clarified, but not without a pointed look. Donald ought not to play stupid. He was never fooling anyone anyway.

"In which case I'd say he deserves whatever he gets," Donald declared. "Though I'd prefer that Alastor didn't actually kill him, because that could be difficult to keep covered up."

"Actually, he's an orphan," Tiberius said. "Not exactly got a crowd waiting about for him."

"Oh, well then perhaps we could pull that off then."

"Perhaps," Tiberius allowed. "Anyway. I meant...how do you _feel_ about it?"

Donald's eyes narrowed as he understood the meaning, an expression rather like an owl preparing to attack - not exactly intimidating, but unnerving all the same.

"Haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about."

"Now that's a lie, and we both know it," Tiberius replied. "Come on, Don. Look...what if I say I've got a bad feeling?"

"Then I'd say it makes sense to worry, because we've left a rather angry Alastor unattended for several weeks, and something is bound to happen," Donald said. "What exactly is it that you want? I'm not an oracle, I'm not your one-stop, instant prophecy center."

Except that, in the words of their Divination professor, Donald practically _was_ those things. He had admittedly been skipping classes and assignments ever since the beginning of November, some sort of reaction to not being able to See what had happened to Mr. Moody. But Tiberius had hoped that on this occasion, Donald might be persuaded to put his talents to use. Just this once, just to make him feel better, if nothing else.

"All I'm saying is, I really do have a bad feeling," Tiberius said, speaking slowly now. "I donnae like this, and I know that you...that you hav'nae wanted ta be doing Divination lately. And that's fine! I'm just asking, as a favor. Maybe ta give me some peace of mind."

"But what if I can't?" Donald asked. "What if I see something bad coming?"

Tiberius did not at all like the sound of that, and his stomach took a definite roll that had nothing to do with the train.

"Then at least we're prepared."

Donald sighed and struggled for a moment, glancing at the door once or twice as though considering an attempt at escape. Tiberius shifted to block the exit, just to discourage that particular idea.

"Fine," Donald said at last, speaking from between clenched teeth. "Fine. I'll need...something to work with."

"Like what?"

"Well, I'm told a crystal ball works wonders."

"And where in Merlin's name am I supposed ta find one of those on a bloody train?" Tiberius demanded.

"It was your idea. I was under the impression you had come prepared," Donald answered matter of factly.

Tiberius scowled for a moment, and if he had not needed Donald's skills just then he would have hexed him and left him locked in the compartment. He was worried, and he did not like to be worried, and now simply was not the time to be harassing him.

"Why donnae I knock your head against this wall, and then we'll see what sort of visions that gives you?"

"No need to be irritable," Donald replied, smirking. He cast around the room, patting down his pockets at the same time. When nothing especially useful presented itself, Donald instead drew his wand and conjured an ordinary bowl. With another flourish and a firm _Aquamenti_, the bowl filled with water. Levitating the bowl in front of him, Donald closed his eyes, drawing a deep, slow breath. Tiberius kept waiting for the lights to go dim, or perhaps thunder to rumble through the sky, even though he knew perfectly well neither would happen. The morning sunlight continued streaming through the window, fog dissolving over the countryside beneath a clear sky. The faintest shimmer of magic trembled through the compartment as Donald touched his wand to the water's surface, eyes open once again, but nothing at remarkable happened, nothing out of the ordinary. A shadow might have passed across the room, but that had probably been a passing tree. Somehow Tiberius had always felt that Divination ought to have more dramatic effects when put to use, and was always disappointed when it did not.

Clockwise and then counter-clockwise, Donald traced his wand across the top of the water. His frown began to deepen, which did nothing for Tiberius' nerves. Finally, Donald sighed and shook his head, vanishing the water and the bowl.

"Nothing."

"What do you mean nothing?" Tiberius asked. Had Donald not already vanished the bowl, he would have insisted on taking a look himself.

"There's shadows, things that could be, things that might be. The future's never certain, Tiberius, you know that," Donald said.

"Could something bad happen?" Tiberius pressed.

Donald considered the question, pausing to clean his glasses on the edge of his sleeve.

"Of course it could. Or something good can happen. Or nothing could happen at all. No choice has been made yet."

The _choice _bit, that was familiar at least. They had covered something about that in class, either end of fifth year or beginning of sixth. Tiberius could work with choices.

"What if you keep checking then?"

"Can't," Donald answered, shaking his head, "I'm not of age, and I don't exactly live in a house full of wizards."

"Rubbish," Tiberius muttered, swearing under his breath as he thumped his fist against the wall. "Much as I hate ta say it...we'll just have ta wait and see."

* * *

Starting with David Dearborn, Alastor discovered that finding assistants would not be quite so simple as he had hoped.

Dearborn had been politely listening all the way up until the mention of Tom Riddle, and had at that point begun firmly refusing. Alastor might have made matters worse and called him a coward, and Dearborn might have retaliated with some rude language, and the whole conversation may or may not have ended in a slight duel outside of Ravenclaw Tower.

The jinxes had all been easy enough to reverse, and the incident had taken place days ago, but still recruiting remained an unforeseen challenge. With the general exception of Donald, the Ravenclaws had always been generally disproving of Alastor's more than occasional bouts of temper. After the fight with Dearborn, they all but ignored him.

Not enough Gryffindors remained at the castle that Alastor really felt would be much use as guards. Most were younger students who had emphatically joined the cause against Slytherin after the attack on Gabriel. The distinct possibility existed that most, if not all, would abandon their post and incite a mass war, which simply would not do. If there was to be any epic battle, Alastor himself would incite the thing. He settled for badgering Hagrid into helping, because he at least knew the younger boy, and Hagrid seemed less likely to do anything too mad since no dangerous creatures happened to be involved.

Seamus Flannigan and Douglas Child, both Hufflepuffs, also refused, albeit with a significant lack of courtesy. In an unexpected move, either Flannigan or Child, or, more likely that git Dearborn, had gone about warning everyone as to what precisely Alastor intended. Whenever he attempted to strike up a conversation with other students, they quickly excused themselves, whether he had been trying to recruit them or not.

Thus, even though quite a number of students had stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas, Alastor found himself being avoided by most of them. Having not been especially enthused at being forced to ask for help to begin with, this run of luck did not at all help matters. Alastor spent a fair amount of time in a less than pleasant mood, because Merlin it wasn't like he had asked anyone to scale the castle walls, and besides this had all been Tiberius' stupid idea anyway. His plan had been just fine without the need for involving anyone else. He had made a promise though, and he could not rightly go back on his word, not to his best mate. So Alastor kept trying, despite the fact that he had by this point more or less run out of people.

In the end, he settled for what he could find. Or rather, who he could find. Four days before Christmas, Alastor arranged to meet in the library with the three students who had been successfully recruited. The library had seemed like the most covert place to meet, since over the holidays few ventured inside. Madame Pince, of course, still lurked behind her desk, glowering around a pile of books as Alastor passed. He had never understood precisely why a witch so young acted quite so unpleasant to virtually any student unfortunate enough to enter her library, and he had never been curious enough to ask. Even now, he had more important things to worry about. He found the volunteers at a table near the back, poorly lit and hidden behind several rickety-looking stacks. The location seemed quite secretive indeed, and Alastor could not ignore the faint trickle of excitement.

Hagrid took up his own side of the table, wearing a maroon jumped that looked a size too small. Across from Hagrid sat the Goldstein brothers, talking to each other in a rapid, thick language that Alastor thought might have been German. Both boys had appeared at Hogwarts two years ago, solemn-faced and seldom speaking, and honestly Alastor had no idea how he had ended up persuading them to help. He seemed to recall Joshua, the eldest and a seventh-year Hufflepuff, being present during his discussion with Flannigan, but he had not been under the impression that Joshua spoke anything but German. Josiah, a bespectacled, fifth-year Ravenclaw, spoke enough English to get by, and translated whatever his brother needed to say. Alastor supposed Joshua could at least understand English, because really that was the only way to explain the presence of the Goldsteins. Being that recruiting had been difficult and best (not to mention pointless, because Tiberius had just been worrying for no good reason), Alastor had no intention to complain. He would take whatever help showed up, thank his exceptionally good luck, and call things even.

"Well, ah..." Alastor said, figuring he ought to begin this conversation. He took a seat at the end of the table. "First off...thanks, I suppose. For agreeing to this. Think I've told most of you, I ah...I'm planning to have a little chat with Tom Riddle."

"Do ve need to know das...das...reason?" Josiah asked, searching for the proper word.

"Personal," Alastor muttered. "Don't worry about that."

If anyone had any problem with this, no one spoke. That might have been because Riddle had rather earned a general animosity among the select group of Hogwarts students, present company among them. Or it could have been because Alastor's face had gone rather red, and he wore the most intimidating look he could manage. Either one suited him just fine.

"So, when exactly did yeh plan on doin' this?" Hagrid asked.

"Tomorrow night," Alastor answered. "Should be quick. Not all that many Slytherins stayed, he'll likely be alone."

Joshua shook his head and said something that no one but Josiah understood. He repeated the phrase again, apparently not realizing this fact. Alastor resisted an urge to knock his own head against the table.

"He says Tom Riddle ist nefer alone," Josiah translated, still a bit of a challenge to understand given his own thick accent. Alastor could not help but be a bit annoyed that so many people kept agreeing with Tiberius. That sort of thinking simply would not do.

"Not during term. But most all his little gang have gone home to their manors for the holidays," Alastor grumbled. "Should be able to handle anyone left just fine."

"Und vat, exactly, do you plan to do?" Josiah asked.

"That part's not important," Alastor said, shaking his head. Joshua looked prepared to argue, but Alastor shot him a glare and he stayed silent. All he needed them to do was lean against a wall, after all. No sense in telling them any more of the plan than necessary.

"What's our part, then?" Hagrid spoke up again. He had never appeared to be entirely comfortable with all of this, but he had nonetheless agreed. Now he was looking uncomfortable again, but Alastor thought the jumper might have been part of the problem.

Alastor retrieved the parchment Donald had given him, stretching it across the table and charming the edges flat. He pointed to the Slytherin dormitory, which he had marked with a circle.

"It's here, at the end of this corridor, so I'd like to put someone here-" he traced his finger along to the end of one corridor where stairs led up to the next level of the dungeons. "-and here."

He switched hands, tapping a place at the bottom where two corridors connected. Taking the right corridor at the base of the stairs ended at the door to the Slytherin common room, which Alastor presently assumed to be a portrait. That was what the writing seemed to indicate, at least. Hagrid's black eyes narrowed and he nodded, seemingly satisfied. Joshua stood to lean over his brother for a better look, muttering to himself but at least looking pleased.

"Gut," Josiah said, which sounded rather like "_goot" and_ Alastor took for some form of approval. "Dis corridor, more dangerous, ja?"

Here Josiah pointed to the place where the two hallways crossed at the base of the stairs.

"Probably. More ways to get in and out. Wouldn't exactly call it dangerous though," Alastor said, shrugging.

Josiah just nodded and tapped the parchment again, motioning between himself and his brother.

"Ve vill take. Since ve are double."

"Ah..." Alastor glanced to Hagrid, who looked to be just as confused. "You mean because...there's two of you?"

"Ja," Josiah said, as though that were the most obvious conclusion in the world. Alastor decided that when he returned to the dormitory, he would be hexing Tiberius' bed.

"Er, yes, that's fine. I'll go in, all you've got to do is make sure no one else tries to get through until I get back," Alastor said.

"Sounds easy enough," Hagrid replied.

"Ought to be," Alastor agreed, rolling the parchment back up. "Should be in and out."

Joshua said something in German again, which Josiah translated as, "Nothing ist ever so easy."

"I might still need the password," Alastor admitted, feeling as though if everyone was determined to be negative he might as well go ahead and join them.

"How do yeh plan ter get that?" Hagrid asked.

"Ah...well..." Alastor paused, taking as much time as possible to return the parchment to his bag.

Honestly he had no idea how exactly to get hold of the password, but his current plan involved intimidating the smallest Slytherin he could find. Or the one most likely to put up a good fight, depending on his mood. Before he could answer, books tumbled to the floor, followed by muffled swearing and the flicker of movement behind the next shelf. Alastor leaped out of his seat, wand drawn in an instant. Joshua Goldstein had reacted just as quickly, cutting around the opposite side of the shelf to close the trap. A short, scrawny boy in Ravenclaw robes stood caught between them, eyes darting nervously from Joshua to Alastor and back again, as though he could not decide who to be more afraid of.

"Who exactly are you?" Alastor demanded.

The boy mumbled some sort of reply, yelping in surprise as Joshua grabbed him by the neck of his robes.

"Afery," Josiah declared. "He ist in meine year."

Josiah had risen from his seat and stood peering through the books, wearing a distinct look of distaste.

"Nice to see you too, Goldstein. Jasper Avery, at your service."

Avery managed a wane smile, but Joshua had yet to release him. Not that Alastor particularly minded. In fact, he was beginning to like these Goldstein fellows.

"How much did you hear?" Alastor growled, leveling his wand with Avery's face.

"It sounded terribly interesting, and I'm sorry for eavesdropping, really, but I think I can help!" Avery blurted out all at once. He finished and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting to be hexed. But Alastor hesitated, intrigued.

"What makes you say that?"

"My older brother, Robert, he's a Slytherin. I could get you the password," Avery said. He had opened his eyes again, but he made a faintly strangled noise as Joshua's wand pressed against his throat.

Alastor raised his eyebrows, more than a bit surprised at this sudden turn in luck, because Merlin he rather needed that password. Things that seemed too good to be true often were though, and a nagging suspicion remained.

"Why should I trust you?"

"Well, I...could you lower your wands?" Avery asked, laughing nervously.

"No," Alastor replied. "Start talking."

"I'm a Ravenclaw. What do I care what you do with the Slytherins? Merlin, they've probably done something to earn it, right?"

Joshua frowned and shook his head, clearly registering his vote without any words. Alastor considered the offer for a moment, then ducked back around the shelf to seek another opinion or two.

"What do you think?"

"Don' know him," Hagrid said, shrugging. "Couldn't say. Guess he might work, fer what yeh need anyway."

"He keeps to himself. His..." Josiah paused, searching for the word again, lips moving soundlessly as he snapped his fingers. "Loyalties, ja. They are his own."

Patching together that rather broken sentence took some effort, but Alastor guessed that the meaning had been something along the lines of Avery being less than concerned about anyone but himself. Well, that could certainly work to an advantage.

"Alright," Alastor said, returning to face Avery himself once again. "Suppose that'll be just fine."

"Maybe you could make it worth my while," Avery suggested, looking no less nervous, and for good reason. "As I do find myself woefully short on funds this fine Christmas season."

"You're having me on," Alastor growled. "Why shouldn't I just go beat it out of your brother, then? Or out of you?"

"Because then he'd warn someone, wouldn't he? I certainly would. And then they'd change the password and it'd do you no good," Avery declared smugly.

Alastor swore under his breath, and Joshua muttered something that sounded vaguely threatening but was still in German and thus still impossible to understand. Still, there would be no better chance to get the password, and Avery knew that perfectly well.

"Four Galleons," Alastor offered.

"Ten."

"Five, and I won't take it back from you once it's done."

"Six, and I'll walk you to the doors myself," Avery said, crossing his arms.

Alastor considered the offer for a moment, weighing his odds. Catching Riddle in the dormitory would send a message to all the Slytherins, much more so than doing the job in the some empty corridor. Not to mention, Alastor felt rather uninspired to sit and wait around hoping for Riddle to fall into a trap. No, the dormitory had to be the place. Avery was a small fellow, no bigger than Albert. Certainly no one difficult for Alastor to overpower if necessary. The risk seemed minimal at best.

"Deal."

Joshua watched doubtfully, muttering again as Alastor and Avery shook hands. Josiah might have said something from his place on the opposite side of the shelf, but Alastor ignored them both.

"We're aiming for tomorrow night. Can you do that?"

"Of course. Where should I meet you?" Avery asked. He had calmed considerably now that their business had been settled. Joshua released his hold, though he did not look at all pleased.

"The entrance hall," Alastor answered. "We'll all meet there and head down to the dungeons."

"Brilliant. I'll take my payment up-front then," Avery said. He sounded far too sure of himself for Alastor's taste, and there was a brief consideration of hitting him.

"I'll have it there."

Avery smiled, and in the dim light of the library, he looked nearly skeletal.

"I'll see you lads tomorrow then."

Without waiting for a reply, Avery slipped away as silently as he had come, vanishing beyond the shelves.

"Ve are trusting him, then?" Josiah asked, sounding as though he did not much care for the idea.

"Sort of have to, much as I hate to say it," Alastor grumbled.

Besides, he was not so much trusting Avery as he was...making a deal. Hagrid, at least, seemed to be fairly neutral over the matter. Joshua tucked his wand into his belt, muttering something that had Josiah shaking his head. Alastor considered asking, then decided he probably did not want to know. He had recruited look-outs, just like Tiberius had asked. He would be careful, just like he had promised. Thus far, things seemed to be going smoothly, if one overlooked the fact that he presently seemed to be working with a third-year, two Austrians, and a boy whose older brother was a Slytherin. Alastor focused on the fact that tomorrow, he would settle his business with Tom Riddle, a matter which had been by this point several weeks regrettably delayed. Not to mention, all this presented a nice distraction, because while he was busy planning he had no time to be homesick, though he still spent a great deal of time missing his friends, and most of all, Minerva.

* * *

The next day, Alastor arrived first in the entrance hall, all but bouncing with restless energy. After tonight, Riddle would never dare go near Minerva again. Hagrid appeared next, lumbering out of a doorway that might have led out onto the grounds, judging by the snow that covered his coat. The Goldstein brothers jogged down the stairs one after the other, solemn as ever, though Alastor thought Josiah might have cracked a small smile. Avery made his appearance last, significantly calmer than he had been the previous night in the library. Alastor tried not to be bothered by that. He tipped the Galleons into Avery's waiting hand, the metal catching in the light.

"Let's get moving," Alastor muttered, gesturing toward the stairs.

They walked in silence, an air of tense excitement that Alastor had not expected falling over the little group. The first stop was to position Hagrid at the top of the staircase that led down to the lower dungeons, the only way back up to the castle proper. Here the faeries lights, which had been charmed to hang along the walls all around the castle, ended. Someone might as well have posted a sign that suggested abandoning all hope to any who ventured downward into the half-lit dungeons.

"What's the signal, if there's trouble?" Hagrid asked. In the dark corridor and flickering torchlight, he looked far older, and far more intimidating.

"Make as much noise as you can," Alastor said, "That ought to get someone's attention."

Hagrid nodded, and saluted for some reason, which suddenly reminded Alastor of the solider from Slughorn's party. He winced and turned away quickly to speak to the Goldsteins.

"At the bottom of the stairs, there's a three way split. Don't let anyone through."

"No problem," Josiah said, the clearest English Alastor had heard him speak yet. The brothers took the stairs two at a time, and thankfully they chose not to salute. Alastor and Avery caught up with them at the bottom, finding Joshua leaning casually against one wall and Josiah against the other. To any passersby, they might have just been stopping to have a conversation. Joshua reached out, grabbing hold of Alastor's sleeve as he passed and speaking in German. Whatever he said seemed to have been positive, because he had managed an almost-smile.

"He says gut luck," Josiah said.

Alastor found himself grinning, already eager for the fight he knew was coming, eager to finally have a go at Tom Riddle.

"Thanks."

Avery led the way down the next corridor, and Alastor glanced back one final time as they rounded the corner and slipped out of sight of the Goldstein brothers. He could not help but shake the creeping, cold feeling that he was still being watched though, checking over his shoulder every few seconds. But he and Avery were the only two in the hall, long shadows stretching behind them and footsteps heavy, the Galleons jingling in Avery's pocket with each step. In the original plan, Alastor had meant to bring his Invisibility Cloak, just to ensure his safety. But with Avery along, that idea had been abandoned.

"You sure he gave you the right password?" Alastor asked.

"Of course."

"And Riddle will actually be there?"

He probably should have asked that part a bit sooner, admittedly. Still, Alastor figured he ought to check now, before he managed to enter the dormitory only to find an empty room.

"He likes to sneak off during term, apparently," Avery said. "But during the holidays he's got the dormitory to himself."

"Spectacular."

This would work. This would work brilliantly. Then the corridor made another turn, one that had not been on the original map. Alastor rather disliked this, especially as he grew further away from his look-outs, his odds of hearing any warnings decreasing dramatically with each step. He began to feel a bit uneasy somewhere beneath all the excitement, now all but convinced that someone was watching. Perhaps he would leave that part out of his owl to Tiberius. They passed a few unpleasant-looking portraits, a suit of armor, and an old, dusty tapestry.

"Just at the end there, yeah?" Alastor pointed to the portrait on the far side of the corridor.

"That's it," Avery agreed. "Oh, but there's one more thing I was supposed to tell you..."

Avery trailed off, apparently lost in thought. Alastor rather felt as though this should have been mentioned beforehand.

"What's that?" he growled.

"They made a better deal."

Alastor gaped for a moment, altogether shocked. Then his temper roared to life, and Alastor swore and drew his wand, reaching for the front of the Avery's robes. He missed though, fingers passing through empty air, and the last thing Alastor saw was Avery's smirk, seconds before the corridor plunged into darkness.

"_Lumos!"_ he shouted, realizing with horror that he had walked straight into a trap. Oh, bugger.

But no light flared to life, and instantly Alastor felt a cold chill spread through him, mingling with the adrenaline, his heart racing. Twice more he tried, but the spell failed again and again. The darkness remained total, black and suffocating and heavy. Oh, Merlin, but this was not going to end well. He reached out with his free hand, hoping to find Avery so he could bash the boy's face in, but there was no one there. Not within reach anyway. Somewhere nearby, hidden in the blackness, someone began to clap.

"Show yourself!" Alastor roared, firing a stunner in the direction of the noise. He missed, hitting a wall by the sound, but not even a spark showed in the darkness. Mind racing, Alastor was entirely at a loss as to what to do in this situation. He ought to have been able to conjure a light of some sort, a fire, a flicker of a glow. Had he been able to see, there would have been no need for worry. Alastor could handle himself in a fair fight, and even in an unfair fight he rather liked his odds. Blind, however, seemed to be proving a slight problem, and a rather large disadvantage. Especially since no one seemed to be having any trouble seeing _him_.

"_Stupefy!"_

Alastor summoned a shield in plenty of time, only to be struck in the back. The spell sent him to his knees, gasping for breath.

"What in Merlin's name do you want?"

"Why, the same thing you do, Moody," someone said. The voice was distorted, entirely unrecognizable. Some part of him seemed rather convinced that the voice belonged to Riddle. "To teach you a lesson."

That did not seem to bode well at all, and all Alastor could think was that first Tiberius, then Minerva would kill him for this. He fought back against a flutter of panic, because he would not panic, he was not afraid. He would not be beaten so easily, and not with such an unfair trap.

Pushing himself back to his feet, pulse pounding in his ears, he swung his wand upward, intending to fire another jinx into the crowd. Someone else struck first though, the spell colliding painfully with his stomach, like a vicious kick to the gut. Alastor doubled over, staggering and trying to keep his feet. The next spell caught him across the chin, knocking him off-balance and sending him to the floor. Dazed now, the world spun even in pitch-darkness, and he lay still for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

"How...how'd you get past...into the corridor?"

"We live down here," what might have been a different voice spoke. With the charms, it was difficult to tell. "All sorts of passages no one else knows about."

"Besides, we put a neat little Silencing Charm at the end there. Nobody knows there's a thing going on."

That comment earned a round of laughter from the invisible crowd, and a fair amount of swearing from Alastor. So much for look-outs. He would be having a long talk with Tiberius after the holidays, but first he had to get out of this mess. This mess he had managed to walk himself right into, much to his fury. Alastor called off a quick series of spells, aiming at random and sincerely hoping he hit something. Bangs and snaps echoed in the tight space, and there was a great deal of shouting and the sounds of running feet.

At some point he managed to regain his feet, narrowly avoiding two Stunners that hit the ground beside him. Furious and determined not to go down without a fight, Alastor managed a couple of steps forward, dodging spells in the darkness as best he could. The world still felt oddly tilted, even in the blackness, and the noise was deafening. One word rippled above the rest of the chaos in the hallway though, distorted and gravelly but still oddly calm.

"_Crucio."_

Alastor halted immediately, eyes widening. He barely had time to brace himself, but the effort was useless. The second the spell struck he was on the ground, every bone twisting, burning, breaking, every nerve on fire. He clamped his jaw shut, eyes squeezed closed as he writhed in silence, trying to breath and failing miserably as the pain ripped through him. Multi-colored lights exploded over his vision, and he could taste blood in his mouth, and his shoulder collided with something sharp and jagged, resulting in a horrible, wrenching pop. He might have screamed then, because whatever that pop had been made the already awful pain infinitely worse.

Then everything stopped. The spell ended, leaving him panting and sweating, sprawled on his stomach. Everything hurt, everything ached, and his left arm would not move properly, tremendous waves of pain rippling through his shoulder every time he tried. He lay as still as possible, taking one shallow breath at a time. Haziness lurked at the edge of his vision and threatened to pull him under, but Alastor resisted. He had to keep fighting. He had could not give up, not now. Never surrender and all that rubbish.

"You ready to apologize?" one of the voices asked.

Alastor cleared his throat as best he could, then told the owner of the voice and whoever else might be listening where exactly they could shove their apologies. The comment was not especially well received.

"Take his wand," the calm voice demanded.

The idea of being not only blind, but also without a wand, prompted a fresh wave of adrenaline, a buzzing, panicked feeling in his stomach. Someone stepped deliberately on his empty hand, and then when Alastor struggled, the foot shifted to his injured shoulder. Dizziness swept through him, and Alastor thought he might be sick from the sudden jolt of pain. He clenched his jaw shut, sucking in a sharp breath, determined not to give them the satisfaction. Something pulled at his wand, and a brief tug-of-war took place in which Alastor managed to light someone's hand on fire. Had the foot not stomped down again on his shoulder, he might have kept his wand.

Someone rolled him onto his back, and at hands held him in place against the floor. Alastor struggled though, refusing to give up even then, even without his wand, even with his shoulder in agony.

"Well then, Mr. Moody," the calm voice spoke again, a sinister quality in the tone, "let's see just how quick of a learner you are."

* * *

_Feel free to insert the dramatic music of your choice here, because: "Oh. Snap!" Reviews, meanwhile, continue to be loved, appreciated, and all sorts of things like that. _


	20. Out of the Frying Pan

A/N - This was originally going to be one chapter, but it grew really, really long, and has thus been split into two. It's for a good cause, I assure you. Now, on to the story!

* * *

Snow swirled outside the window pane, weaving patterns of white lace against the night. Minerva's breath left clouds on the glass, the wind's chill seeping in beneath the edge of the window sill. Warmth spread from the room behind her though, where the party continued and the sound of laughter filled the air. The children had probably gathered around the tree now, eyes bright and begging for stories of Father Christmas. Twinkling Muggle lights adorned the walls, mingling with garland and tinsel and of course, an enormous tree. The piano in the corner would be put to use shortly, and the fireplace held a roaring fire, stockings hanging from the mantle above.

Given her rather severe punishment concerning the "sneaking away to London" matter, Minerva had been surprised to even be allowed out of the house for the party. Then again, her father insisted on attending every year, and he knew how much Minerva enjoyed his friends, a bunch of Muggle professors who told fascinating, if not outlandish, stories. Perhaps he had been able to persuade her mother to allow the trip, for which Minerva was rather grateful. She had been going slowly mad in the house, and besides, she could never recall a Christmas without the Inklings.

How precisely her father had met the professors had never been fully explained, but Minerva liked to imagine that the encounter had taken place at some dusty old bookshop. Magic must have been involved, because all the adults seemed to be aware that the McGonagalls were wizards, though they seldom mentioned the subject. Whenever an ornament fell from the tree and met an unfortunate end, or someone spilled their drink on the rug, no one paid any mind if the damage fixed itself.

As much as she loved the parties, as happy as she was to be free of the house, Minerva could not quite summon up a very festive mood. She had excused herself to the library, to think in private, having never wanted more to be someplace else. Her fingers strayed to the locket, wishing for the millionth time that Alastor had not stayed at school for the holidays, or else, that she could have stayed with him. He had just begun to cheer up, and she worried that so much time all but alone in the castle might push him back into that angry, melancholy state.

"I believe you've wandered into the wrong room," a voice said behind her, "It seems terribly quiet in here. Nor do there appear to be decorations."

That observation was note entirely true, because someone had attempted to weave garland around the shelves, the effort abandoned halfway around the room. Still, Minerva recognized the voice, smiling as she turned to find Mr. Tolkien standing in the doorway. An older man, white-haired and with crinkled lines around his eyes, Mr. Tolkien had always been what Minerva imagined all Muggle professors must look like. She had never properly understood what he was a professor of - something about English and maybe language as well. That seemed silly though, because unless the Muggles spoke something else they ought to already know English, but Minerva had been careful never to point this observation out. Currently Mr. Tolkien held his pipe in one hand, the other in the pocket of his tweed jacket as he watched her from the doorway.

"I always seem to wind up in the room with all the books," Minerva pointed out.

"Now that would be true," Mr. Tolkien agreed.

He pressed his hand against a switch on the wall, dim light flickering to fill several glass bulbs on the ceiling. Three of the four walls were hidden by bookshelves that sagged under their heavy load, and the fourth wall was only free thanks to the long window. The desk wedged in one corner held only more books, and various piles of manuscripts towered atop the carpet. Minerva had long since decided that whenever she grew up and owned a house, she would have a room just like this one.

"Now, is there a reason you're hiding in the library?" Mr. Tolkien asked.

"I wasn't hiding," Minerva insisted, although technically, she was. "I was just...thinking."

"And does your thinking have anything to do with that necklace?" Mr. Tolkien asked. "Which, by the way, will tarnish if you keep doing that."

Minerva had not realized that her hands had strayed to the locket again and she froze instantly, blushing.

"Mother told me the same thing."

"Oddly enough, she might be right," Mr. Tolkien said with a wink. "Might I ask who it's from?"

"A...a friend of mine," Minerva replied. Honestly she and Alastor were more than friends, that much had been clarified quite effectively the night he had given her the locket. But she had not so much as told her sister about that, much less her parents. Telling Mr. Tolkien first seemed like going woefully out of order.

"I'm going to guess," Mr. Tolkien paused, taking a draw from his pipe, "that it was a gift from the young man you slipped away to London to visit."

"How did you-" Minerva started to ask, then stopped herself, because her parents must have passed the story among the partygoers. How very kind of them. "Yes...yes it is."

"Pity you didn't bring him along," Mr. Tolkien said. "I'd very much have liked to meet him."

"He's stayed at school," Minerva murmured. "I wish he hadn't."

Mr. Tolkien seemed to understand, more or less, that this was why Minerva had slipped away from the party. He took another draw from his pipe, watching her for a moment as if considering his thoughts.

"I suspect...that he wouldn't want you to spend your Christmas worrying over him. What do you think?"

Minerva tried to imagine Alastor's reaction to discovering that she had to this point spent a good portion of her holidays waiting to go back to school. Not that she had had much else to do in the confines of her room, but still.

"No, he probably wouldn't."

"There you have it then," Mr. Tolkien said, smiling. "You're simply obliged to have a good Christmas."

Minerva smiled, and would have answered had a burst of laughter from the next room not drawn their attention. The laughter was followed by the chime of piano keys, playing no particular tune, not yet at least.

"I expect we'd better get back, before Jack gets carried away with the carols," Mr. Tolkien said with a sigh.

"I expect so," Minerva agreed.

"Not to mention, I believe you owe me a story or two," Mr. Tolkien reminded her.

"Only if you give me a few of your own," Minerva said. "As usual."

"Fair enough, I suppose."

Mr. Tolkien led the way, pressing his hand to the switch again and vanishing the lights. Minerva hesitated just a moment before crossing into the next room, casting one last glance toward the window. Alastor would be fine, and he would have a good Christmas, and she would see him again soon. She repeated the phrase to herself a time or two, then went to join the rest of the party, holding tight to the locket all the while.

* * *

He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. There had been a corridor, blackness and agony, cold voices in the dark, but now Minerva leaned over him, just out of reach, blurred around the edges. She frowned worriedly, and she might have been saying something, but Alastor could not seem to properly hear. Ignoring his outstretched hand, Minerva reached past to touch his face, gentle and warm. A light glowed behind her, shining off her glasses, bright after so long in the darkness and so dazzling that it made his head ache. Not the greatest dream he had ever had, but it definitely made the top five, given the circumstances.

"S-sorry...I'm sorry about..." Alastor began to apologize, not entirely sure why but feeling as though he ought to, given the state of him. After all, Minerva had never been too pleased to find him injured after a fight.

"Everything will be fine," she said, voice more clear now but still sounding very far away.

Alastor could not honestly say that he believed that, but he knew better than to argue when Minerva had that look on her face.

"Sure," he mumbled. "Course it will."

If she picked up the doubts in his tone, she made no comment. She simply smiled, her hand moving now, two fingers pressed against his chest. The contact burned peculiarly, drawing Alastor out of the haze, making the world, for a brief, instant, startlingly clear.

"You have to wake up now," Minerva said.

"Rather not, if you don't mind," Alastor muttered.

He could not recall much of what had happened, but he had a rather good feeling that he had been hurt, badly. No reason to rush back to that sort of thing, not when he could just as easily wait here with Minerva.

"Alastor, you've got to wake up."

Before any further protest could be made, Minerva flickered and vanished, much to Alastor's dismay. He was not left alone long, however, because another, taller shadow formed up in front of the light. Blurry at first, the shape solidified into a man in military robes, wearing a crooked smile on a painfully familiar face.

"Da," Alastor said hoarsely, breath catching in his throat.

"Fight's not over yet. What you doing sleeping?" his father asked.

"Wasn't...I didn't..." Alastor could not quite manage to respond. He was torn between being shocked to his see his father, and embarrassed at being seen like this.

"Up you go then," his father said, reaching down and waiting.

Alastor hesitated only a moment, nodding determinedly and swinging his good arm up to take his father's hand.

"Good man."

Adrian Moody grinned broadly and tugged, pulling Alastor upward. The light grew brighter, utterly blinding, and his father vanished like a shadow in the noonday sun.

* * *

Alastor opened his eyes, drawing a sharp breath and awake once more. The first thing that hit him was the awful, bone-deep ache that covered him from head to toe. The second thing was the awful, biting pain that throbbed in a few select areas. Merlin, but he must have taken a beating. He groaned, leaning back against what felt like a wall and pressing his hands against his face. Well, pressing one hand to his face anyway. The other did not seem to want to respond. Rubbish.

Stretching out with his good arm, he could feel another wall nearby on his right, and he could almost reach a third wall on his left, fingertips brushing against stone. Probably a broom cupboard, then, given the space. At least nothing had fallen on his head. Yet. A tiny sliver of light glowed beneath what he guessed to be the door, barely enough to see by but still better than being in pitch darkness. If he sat quite still, he could make out the outline of his feet and hand. He patted down his pockets, finding his wand definitely gone, much to his disappointment. Alastor slid forward until his foot connected with the solid mass above the line of light, what he hoped was the door at least as he delivered a solid kick. The hinges rattled but did not give, and the impact sent an unpleasant jolt up his leg. The movement also jolted his sore and battered muscles, and the steady ache began to become a sharp, definite pain that made even breathing hurt. Without his wand, he had no hope of getting out, not in his present condition. That thought angered him, because he should not have been taken so easily, should never have trusted Avery. Not to mention he should have told Tiberius to mind his own bloody business, and ought to have beaten Riddle when he had the chance weeks ago. Really Alastor was simply furious at anyone and everyone he could think of, himself most of all.

Intending to climb to his feet, because really this was just ridiculous and he could get out of this blasted cupboard on his own, Alastor braced his hands against the floor and pushed. The dull throb coming from his left arm immediately exploded, daggers shooting from his shoulder all the way to his fingertips. The awful, blinding intensity left him gasping, waiting for the moment to pass. Eventually, what felt like ages later, the pain began to subside, and Alastor released a breath he had not realized he was holding.

Moving slowly so as not to jar his arm again, Alastor gingerly pressed along his left hand, searching for whatever had been injured so badly. The hand itself felt rather bruised, and he recalled someone stomping on his fingers, but nothing seemed to be broken. Likewise his forearm and elbow seemed to be in one piece, though his elbow had gone rather stiff and straightened only grudgingly and with great effort. As his fingers reached his shoulder, however, Alastor shuddered involuntarily. Even the lightest touch stung and threatened to unleash another round of horrible pain. Alastor could not see the injury in the darkness, but the joint felt swollen and all wrong, probably out of place. Spectacular.

Letting his head fall back against the wall, gently to keep from moving his shoulder, Alastor tried to recall precisely how he had ended up locked in the cupboard. Bits and pieces hung fragmented in his mind, a snapshot of Avery's smirk, of the all-consuming darkness, footsteps and echoes and pain. There had been a fight, or more accurately, a trap. Alastor would not give the scene in the corridor the dignity of being called a fight. Up until the _Cruciatus_ everything remained quite clear, down the to distorted voices and the slow, taunting clapping. Of course, after the spell had brought him down, everything went a bit hazy. His shoulder had likely been dislocated then, and his wand taken. There might have been another _Crucio_, or maybe two, because everything after that blurred together in agony and fire.

Merlin, but Tiberius would never let him hear the end of this. Everything should have been straightforward and simple - sneak into the Slytherin common room, find Tom, teach him a rather memorable lesson, and escape. At no point had he considered that Avery might turn traitor, but that was simply one more person to add to the list of those with whom he needed to have a serious conversation. Even having been in total darkness, Alastor would have sworn Riddle was the ringleader. Considering the extra precaution they had taken with the charmed voices, he would have some trouble proving his theory.

Footsteps sounded in the hall outside, and Alastor stiffened, holding his breath. They had come back to finish the job, beat him around some more, or at least try to do so. With any luck, they would not be expecting him to have woken, and perhaps he could surprise them. He had no wand of course, and with a dislocated shoulder he could not do much, but perhaps he could buy himself some time. There was no telling how long he had been gone, or how long he had been unconscious for that matter, and he had a feeling that he was quite alone in the dungeons.

With great effort, he managed to stand upright, pulling himself up along the wall with his good hand. By the end he was sweating and shaking, breathing heavily and braced against the wall because his legs did not quite want to take his weight. The footsteps grew louder, voices joining in now, and Alastor felt around in the darkness, pleased to discover a mop propped in the corner. He might be wandless, but at least he had some semblance of a weapon.

The lock clicked, and the voices hushed as the door began to creep open. Before the light could blind him or any spells could stop him, Alastor dove forward, leading with his good shoulder. He hit the door and knocked it fully open, tumbling out of the cupboard and swinging the mop as he fell. Some part of him noted rather dryly that he probably looked completely ridiculous, but that suggestion was ignored as first the mop, then Alastor himself, collided with whoever had been standing just outside. Shouting ensued, followed by a bang as the door struck the wall and another heavy thud as Alastor landed on the floor. Rolling mid-fall had seemed like a good tactic at the time, until the back of his head connected with the ground, hard enough to send the room tilting sideways.

The general plan had reached its limit, as Alastor had not really decided on what to do if he actually succeeded in taking down one of the attackers. His decision-making also happened to be slightly delayed by the dizziness that had swept over him and the more than slight discomfort his shoulder seemed to be experiencing. He knew he ought to get up, get moving, but all he could manage was lying still and waiting for the world to stop spinning, or at least stop being so blurry.

Two figures leaned over him, and as the mop seemed to have been released, Alastor swung with his good arm instead, hoping to hit anything within range. Bring one of them down, maybe catch them both off guard, and then he could figure out the rest from there. The punch connected, not with enough force to do any real damage, in Alastor's opinion, but hard enough to send one of them staggering away. The one he had not hit, however, took the opportunity to seize Alastor by the shirt and drag him backwards. He had been in pain before, but all at once his shoulder was agony, and the rest of him hurt fairly badly besides. Struggling in vain to release himself, Alastor resisted the pull until a rather familiar voice spoke up.

"Stop! He ist injured!"

The moving did indeed stop abruptly, and Josiah Goldstein stepped into his view. His glasses had fallen off, and he looked much younger without them.

"He ist badly injured," Josiah repeated, kneeling down.

Joshua appeared then, having apparently been the person dragging him backwards. He seemed to be apologizing, or at least Alastor sincerely hoped he was apologizing.

"Fine," Alastor muttered through gritted teeth. "Just...fine."

He tried to push himself upright, but only reached a sitting position before the Goldsteins stopped him.

"Ve are trying to help!" Josiah insisted. "Bitte, sit still!"

Alastor understood enough of the reply that he quit trying to stand. Which was just as well, really, because he had a feeling he would not manage to stay standing for long just now anyway.

"How...I thought you'd have..." Alastor tried to order his thoughts, but Josiah had started some sort of healing spells on his ribs that burned in a rather distracting sort of way. Joshua looked mildly offended by Alastor's partial statement, muttering something that sounded less than polite.

"Ve vould not haf left," Josiah said quietly. "Ve began to vorry."

"Well, I did end up in a closet," Alastor growled.

"Silencing spells," Josiah declared. "They kept us from hearing."

"Fair enough," Alastor allowed, biting back a hiss of pain as Josiah poked at his shoulder. "How long's it been then?"

Joshua answered this time, speaking rapidly and adding in a few hand motions. He wore a vicious sort of smile, and seemed to be gesturing to something further on down the hall. Alastor leaned back as far as he dared to see the tall form of Hagrid standing over several black shapes that blurred with the shadows.

"Ve came looking," Josiah explained. "You vere gone, und das corridor vas empty. But, a few of them had stayed. Ve...talked mit them. Did not go so vell. Ve vere going to put them in das closet, but...you vere already there."

Alastor was not entirely sure if he should be irked by the fact that he had been found accidentally, or if he should just be happy to have been found at all. Joshua had waved Hagrid over now, and the towering third-year dragged three black-robed figures behind him. One wore rather bright orange stripes across his skin, the other blue spots, and the third's front teeth had grown exceptionally long, almost down to his chin.

"Thanks, then," Alastor said, watching the odd procession and making note to keep the Goldsteins on his side.

Josiah merely nodded, but Joshua grinned proudly, drawing a wand from his back pocket. A wand Alastor recognized and was thrilled to see again.

"They also had your vand," Josiah said as Joshua placed the wand beside Alastor's good hand. "Ve thought you might vant das."

"I did, yeah," Alastor agreed, fingers pressed against his wand. Despite the fact that he was still beaten and bruised and sore, there was an odd comfort in knowing that he at least had his wand once again.

Hagrid pulled the figures past and dumped them all unceremoniously in the closet.

"Yeh alright then?" Hagrid asked, finished with his task.

"Fine," Alastor repeated, earning a reproving look from Josiah.

"His shoulder ist out of place. He needs to go to das hospital."

Alastor would have argued against this anyway, because Madame Hewitt would not be entirely pleased to see him in this state, but he was saved the effort by the sound of voices floating along the corridor. All four boys fell immediately silent, listening intently. In the maze of corridors within the dungeon, it would impossible to tell where the noise had come from, but Alastor would have sworn they were nearby. His companions seemed to share this theory, keeping a watchful eye on the opening at the end of the hall, the only way out. The voices began to draw closer, laughter joining in the noise now, and Alastor tried very hard not to be irritated over the fact that they seemed to be trapped once again. Perhaps he should have just stayed in the cupboard.

* * *

_I do not, for the record, own Mr. Tolkien, Jack, or the Inklings collectively. But I do sincerely enjoy getting to make all these historical references. On an unrelated note - looks like the boys seems to be in a slight predicament. Have thoughts, opinions, witty comments, or a strong desire to know what happens next? There's a reviews button for that. ;)_


	21. A Duel in the Dungeons

A/N - Picking up right where we left off...

* * *

Nobody spoke, not at first. Everyone was too busy considering the options to do much talking, and besides, no sense in drawing unwanted attention. The voices down the corridor could just as well belong to some innocent passersby, but Alastor rather doubted that and so apparently did his companions. Escape could have been possible, if they were quiet and moved quickly, but all of them were well aware that Alastor was in no shape to be moving quickly. He did not miss the sidelong glances that kept falling in his directions and tried to pretend they did not bother him. Alastor had already made up his mind though – he had come down into the dungeons for a reason, and he had not finished yet. No sense in going back with nothing to show for his trouble but a dislocated shoulder and some story about unseen attackers in the dark. Nor was he about to run away.

"Set it back here," Alastor said hurriedly, before he had a chance to think about what he was asking. "Just put it back in place here."

All three boys just sort of gaped down at him, as though he had just suggested they invite the Slytherins to tea.

"Is that...a good idea?" Hagrid asked. "Supposed ter hurt awfully bad."

Being that his shoulder already hurt rather badly, Alastor did not much want to consider the fact that resetting the joint would make things worse. But if he left now, if he let them take him back to the Hospital Wing, or worse, if the wandering voices in the hall caught them, then somehow that meant Riddle won, and that certainly was not about to happen. Josiah frowned worriedly, poking at Alastor's shoulder again.

"I suppose...ve should not move him, really...I know a spell that vill help, but it vill hurt."

"I don't care," Alastor growled. "Just get it back in place before they get here."

"If you insist," Josiah murmured, nodding to his brother.

Joshua shook his head though, pointing from himself to Alastor to Hagrid, speaking all the while. The brothers began to argue in German, meanwhile the voices down the corridor grew louder and Alastor nearly told them to shut up and get on with the thing.

"Gut point," Josiah said at last. This time he glanced over his shoulder at Hagrid.

"Come here."

"What do yeh want me ter do?" Hagrid asked, beginning to go a bit pale.

"Hold him in place," Josiah instructed. "Do not let him move until I say."

Looking highly doubtful about all this, Hagrid kneeled behind Alastor, wrapping one huge arm around him so that Alastor's good arm was pinned in place. Josiah took the liberty of placing Hagrid's other hand over Alastor's mouth.

"Sorry," Hagrid murmured.

Alastor tried to tell him not to worry, but the words came out rather muffled and probably failed to be very reassuring. Joshua moved to stand across from him, leaning back against the closet door and watching the proceedings warily, wand at the ready. Josiah, meanwhile, shifted positions and began rubbing his hands together before wrapping one hand around around Alastor's wrist, placing the other just below his elbow.

"Deep breath."

Alastor obeyed, drawing a deep breath and shutting his eyes for good measure, because he was beginning to change his mind about all this.

"Und exhale."

He thought of how he would at least have a good story for Tiberius, of how now he really owed Riddle a beating, of the night with Minerva atop the Astronomy Tower. He thought of everything except for what was about to happen, and as he breathed out there was a split-second in which he felt no pain at all. Then Josiah's hands shifted, twisting his arm with a violent jerk that ended with a wet-sounding pop. Had Hagrid's hand not been covering his mouth, Alastor would have been screaming loud enough to draw the attention of half the castle. The joint might have been back in place, but the agony was horrible, and Alastor struggled against Hagrid's hold, not too entirely surprised when the younger boy managed to keep him in place. Josiah muttered an incantation, and the pain lessened enough that Alastor no longer thought his arm had been set on fire, but even that was only a marginal improvement.

The voices that had been drawing ever closer finally reached the entrance to the corridor, notable by the fact that the conversation ceased abruptly as they took in the scene. They sounded rather surprised, not that Alastor blamed them.

"Oi! What you think you're doing?"

Joshua answered by firing a hex down the hall, dodging out of the way as three spells flew back at him. Hagrid released his hold then and Alastor slumped forward, breathing raggedly and clutching at his shoulder.

"Ve should get him away now," Josiah was saying.

"No," Alastor insisted, shaking his head. "We're not finished here."

Josiah blinked at him, too shocked to respond. Hagrid and Joshua had been in the middle of dueling four on two, and exchanged surprised glances that did not escape Alastor's notice.

"You need das hospital," Josiah said. He touched his wand to a gash below Alastor's collarbone that Alastor had not even realized was there. Probably a bad sign, losing track of injuries like that.

"You are badly hurt. Und dat vill scar."

"I don't care about scars," Alastor growled. "I've got business with Tom Riddle, and I'm not bloody finished."

They could have ignored him. They could have disregarded his glower and his insistence and could have knocked him out and dragged him away easily. Alastor half expected them to at least, and clutched his wand tightly in one hand, ready to fight if necessary. A closed look passed between the Goldsteins and Hagrid, a few muttered words drowned out in the noise of the spells ricocheting off the walls.

"Ve said ve vould help," Josiah said at last. "Und ve vill. Until das job is done."

Alastor could not decide if he was more relieved or surprised, though surprised seemed to be winning out as Josiah levelled his wand in his direction.

"What are you-?" Alastor halfway asked, but Josiah spoke before he could finish.

"_Heilen_."

The pains and aches began to fade abruptly, a cold sensation washing over him. Even his shoulder felt oddly normal, though Alastor hesitated to try moving it just yet.

"Dat should hold long enough," Josiah said, reaching down now with his free hand. "Up you go, crazy Englishman."

Alastor grinned, supposing he had earned that one. Between the two of them, they managed to get Alastor to his feet just as Joshua disarmed the last attacker.

"Couldn't have saved some for the rest of us?" Alastor asked, feeling a bit lightheaded and far more energetic than he had moments ago. Side effects of Josiah's strange spell, he supposed. Still, he was not about to complain.

Joshua eyed him warily for a moment, then barked out a laugh and began speaking rapidly. Alastor did not understand a single word, but he decided not to interrupt.

"He says you vould have been disappointed," Josiah translated. "An easy fight."

"Yes, well we can't have that, can we?" Alastor agreed. He slipped past Joshua and Hagrid, prodding at the nearest figure with his foot. "Do we know who they are?"

"Wearin' masks, just like the others," Hagrid said. "Pulled 'em off, o' course. Nobody we recognized."

Alastor vanished the mask off the face of the person lying in front of him, revealing a mousey-haired boy covered in painful-looking red spots that he suspected had been a result of the fight. He thought the boy might have been a Ravenclaw, or a Hufflepuff maybe. Certainly not any Slytherin he recognized, but then again, neither were the next two.

"He's got some new friends," Alastor muttered.

"Who has?" Josiah asked, levitating the three unmasked boys and sending them in the direction of the closet to join the others.

"Riddle," Alastor said matter of factly.

"Yeh sure?" Hagrid asked. "We don' even know it was him."

"Course it was," Alastor grumbled. "Who else could it have been?"

Nobody had an answer to this, and Joshua and Josiah busied themselves with stuffing six people into a broom cupboard. Alastor, meanwhile, turned his attention to the last masked attacker. By some stroke of luck, he actually recognized this one.

"Hello, Mr. Gibbon," Alastor murmured.

"Not surprised he's involved," Hagrid said.

On the floor between them lay Bernard Gibbon, a seventh-year Slytherin with close-cropped blond hair and a reputation for making trouble. Joshua began speaking rapidly, and Alastor did not need a translation to know that he was less than thrilled to see his year-mate.

"Shall ve add him to das pile?" Josiah asked.

Alastor glanced over his shoulder to see Josiah leaned against the closet door, fighting to keep it closed. Joshua seemed quite eager to shove Gibbon into a cupboard, and perhaps jinx him a few more times, but Alastor had a better idea.

"_Incarcerous_."

Ropes snaked out and bound Gibbon, and Alastor motioned for Hagrid to stand him upright.

"Vat are you doing?" Josiah asked.

"Close the door," Alastor said. "We won't be putting him in."

Joshua grumbled about this, but went to help his brother charm the closet shut. The door finally closed with a dull thud, and the Goldsteins went to work charming the lock. In a few hours, there would be six very displeased people trapped inside, but Alastor really could not manage to care, having been in a similar position not long ago.

"Wands at the ready then," Alastor suggested, keeping his own wand trained on Gibbon as the others did the same.

"_Rennervate_."

Gibbon woke with a gasp, eyes going wide as he realized he had been captured, and by whom.

"Moody?"

"Lovely to see you too," Alastor growled. "'Can't tell you how much I appreciate being locked in a cupboard."

He left out any mention of the injury to his arm, which, despite Josiah's spell, hung essentially useless at his side. The less Gibbon knew, the better.

"Dunno what you're talking about," Gibbon said hurriedly. "Sure you've got me confused with someone else."

"I rather doubt it," Alastor said.

Gibbon struggled and attempted to free himself, but had Hagrid not been holding him by the shoulder he would have succeeded only in tipping over face first.

"What is it that you want?"

"I'm looking for Riddle," Alastor muttered, "and you're going to help me."

"Tom?" Gibbon asked, feigning surprise. "What you need him for?"

"That's between me and him," Alastor said.

"Don't think I want to get involved then," Gibbon replied.

Joshua took a step forward out of the shadows, fairly menacing as he glared and threatened in German. Gibbon, at least, looked to be faintly unnerved.

"G-Goldstein, how are you?"

"He says you should cooperate," Josiah translated coolly, the light reflecting off his glasses and hiding his eyes. "Or ve vill assist you in making dat choice."

Gibbon swallowed hard, eyes darting from the Goldstein brothers to Alastor and back again. Twice he glanced up at Hagrid, and if possible his face went even more pale.

"It's simple enough," Alastor said. "Firstly, just tell us where he's at."

"The common room," Gibbon murmured. "He's in the common room."

"Wasn't so hard now, was it?" Alastor asked, grinning wickedly. "Now, you're going to get us in."

"I am not!" Gibbon insisted, beginning to struggle again.

Alastor took a step forward, grin vanishing instantly as he glowered down at Gibbon, wand against the other boy's nose.

"I rather think you are."

Gibbon winced, expecting to be hexed any moment, either by Alastor or one of the Goldsteins or perhaps Hagrid even. When no hexes came, he begun speaking rapidly, tripping over words in his hurry.

"Yes alright fine I'll help, I''ll help!"

"Brilliant," Alastor said, vanishing the ropes around Gibbon's legs. "Now if you'd be so kind as to lead the way."

For a fleeting moment, Gibbon looked as though he might consider an attempt at escape. Hagrid tightened his hold on the shoulder of the older boy's robes, however, and Alastor and the Goldsteins all kept their wands at the ready. Having no other choice, Gibbon led the way back down the corridor, stumbling and tripping every few steps.

Curfew had to have been long past by then, and Alastor only hoped that no one happened to be patrolling the dungeons. Explaining the present situation would be difficult at best. Josiah' spell had yet to wear off entirely, but Alastor's knees and shoulder had begun to ache again. He kept moving and did not complain, knowing he only had to hold out a little longer to see this through to the end.

Finally they reached the corridor that Alastor had been captured in, only this time the lights did not vanish and no one clapped or laughed from the darkness. Still, Alastor found himself glancing over his shoulder now and again, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. The portrait loomed larger and larger at the end of the corridor as they approached, anticipation growing with each step. But when Gibbon came to a halt, he turned away from the portrait

faced instead the empty stone wall to the left.

"Jabberwocky," Gibbon said, words a whisper in the stillness.

The stones shifted in answer, sliding open to reveal a doorway hidden not by a portrait, but by the wall itself.

"In you go," Alastor said, giving Gibbon a shove forward.

The Slytherin common room had to be one of the most dreary places Alastor had ever seen in his life. The place might as well have been a dungeon itself, low-ceilinged and decorated with skulls that gaped and grinned from around the room. The light had a greenish tinge, probably from the lamps, and black water swirled in the windows. In the middle of the room, seated alone on a garishly green sofa, was Tom Riddle himself.

"I was wondering what had taken you so long..." Riddle said, lowering his book and turning to glance toward Gibbon. He did a double-take though as he realized that Gibbon was still partially bound, only then noticing who else had entered the common room.

"Two Gryffindors, a Hufflepuff, a Ravenclaw, and even a Slytherin," Riddle murmured. "Now that may be the finest display of inter-house unity I've ever witnessed."

"They made me bring them!" Gibbon insisted desperately.

He stumbled his way toward Riddle, a pleading look on his face. Had he been free of the ropes, Gibbon probably would have been wringing his hands too. The display was mostly pathetic, and also a bit odd, watching a seventh-year all but beg forgiveness from a boy two years his junior. Riddle sent a cold look in the other Slytherin's direction, and Gibbon silenced immediately, changing direction and slipping behind the sofa.

"I'm sure," Riddle said. "So what do I owe the pleasure, Moody?"

Alastor moved further into the common room, ignoring the jolts of pain that came with each step.

"Think you know perfectly well. There's a few incidents I'd like to speak with you about. Tonight in the corridor being one."

"What happened tonight?" Riddle asked. "I'm afraid I've been in here reading all evening. Dreadfully boring."

Alastor's fist tightened around his wand, and he felt his face go red.

"Ve are not so sure," Josiah spoke before Alastor had a chance. This was probably for the best, as Alastor would not have been nearly so polite.

"Goldstein, isn't it?" Riddle asked, turning his attention to the rest of the little group gathered just inside the door. "You're in my year I believe. Almost as smart as I am."

"Almost," Josiah allowed grudgingly, his face tight.

"Shame you haven't noticed, but Moody seems to be hurt," Riddle went on. "You really ought to take him to see Madame Hewitt."

"Not hurt that bad," Alastor muttered. "I assure you."

"Hmm. Well. Whatever happened tonight, perhaps you ought not to wander the dungeons," Riddle suggested. "Never know what might happen."

"You were there!" Alastor shouted, unable to keep his voice down any longer. He might have drawn the attention of everyone else in the Slytherin dormitories, but at present he was too furious to care.

"Can you prove that?" Riddle asked, raising an eyebrow.

Alastor seethed in place, because no, he couldn't prove that, and Riddle knew it.

"As to other incidents...I suppose you must be referring to that business at the Christmas party," Riddle said, smiling coldly. "I'm terribly sorry if I made you jealous with my innocent conversation."

Red began to seep across his vision, and Alastor swung his wand in a wide arc, sending Riddle staggering backward. The younger boy just laughed, still smiling coldly.

"You and your little friends going to team up on me? Four on one, yes that's very fair."

"No such thing," Alastor said. "Pick up your wand, Riddle. I want a fair fight."

Riddle's eyes narrowed in interest, long fingers reaching for the wand resting on the sofa nearby.

"You sure about that, Moody?"

There was a flash then, of the scene outside Slughorn's office, Riddle pale and predatory in the torchlight, Minerva trapped between him and the wall.

"Positive," Alastor growled.

Riddle's wand was in his hand almost instantly, and he stepped around to the opposite side of the sofa where a long, clear stretch of floor lay waiting. A perfect space for dueling if Alastor had ever seen one. He crossed the room, waving back Josiah and Hagrid, both of whom had started forward to help.

"A fair fight, I said!"

Joshua seized his brother by the neck of his robes and locked his other hand around the sleeve of Hagrid's too-small jumper. Gibbon had vanished into one of the doors on the far side of the common room, probably running off to find help. Hopefully the fight would be over before any reinforcements could arrive. Riddle waited patiently as Alastor approached, eyes falling on his injured shoulder. He made no comment, however, merely gave a halfway nod and then returned his attention to the duel at hand.

"The usual rules apply?"

"Of course."

"Who counts?" Riddle asked.

Alastor certainly did not intend to trust Riddle with the job, and the feeling appeared to be mutual. Fortunately, the problem was solved for them.

"I vill," Josiah said.

Nobody complained about this, and Alastor and Riddle turned away from each other, striding to opposite ends of the floor. There was a peculiar, tingling sensation across the back of his neck, and Alastor sincerely hoped Riddle kept to the rules, as there was nothing to stop him from firing a hex just now. Riddle seemed to be in the interest of preserving good sportsmanship though, because Alastor reached his place unscathed, turning on his heels to face his opponent once more.

Alastor bowed, and Riddle did the same, framed by grinning skulls and murky green light, a pale phantom in black robes. Then the pair of them raised their wands, held for a moment like swords in front of their faces. All the world slowed and stilled and stopped, and Alastor could hear each breath loud and clear, his heartbeat racing. He had to win. He had to win.

"One, two," Josiah paused, whether from trying to remember the word or some sort of dramatic effect, Alastor was unsure.

The air stiffened and held, the tension radiating across the room.

"Drei."

That probably meant three. Or at least, Alastor hoped it did.

"_Stupefy!"_

"_Impedimenta!"_

Just as they had once before, the spells collided with each other, exploding in a burst of red and orange light. Alastor fired back with a Blasting Charm as quickly as he could manage, but Riddle parried the spell. Taking two steps backward, Alastor collided with a wall and realized with a fleeting moment of panic that he had run out of room.

"_Defodio!_" Riddle shouted.

Alastor leaned away from the curse, refusing to look at the hole that had been gouged into the wall. Merlin, but just because Riddle was going to play fair did not mean he intended to play nice. Then again, Alastor could not think of many reasons to be especially nice either. He tried for a Banishing Charm, which succeeded in knocking Riddle off balance but not much else.

"_Incendio!" _Riddle cried, still calm as ever.

The spell missed wide, but the carpet beside him caught fire almost immediately. Alastor doused the flames, before they could actually reach him.

"_Aguamenti."_

The fire vanished beneath the jet of water, but Alastor should not have hesitated, should not have shifted his attention, and he realized his mistake as soon as he caught sight of Riddle's smirk.

"_Locomotor Mortis!"_

Alastor's Shield Charm was a second too late as his legs stiffened and he tumbled to the floor. He landed hard on his bad shoulder, and had the wind not been knocked out of him he would have been gasping in pain.

"Come on, Moody. I was expecting a real fight," Riddle said.

Alastor gritted his teeth, rolling out of the way on pure instinct as another spell crackled through the air where his head had been seconds ago. Josiah's healing charm had begun to wear off now, and Alastor tried and failed to push himself upright, arm buckling beneath him.

"I'm almost offended you thought you could win in the state you're in. What were you thinking?" Riddle asked.

His voice sounded closer now, as though Riddle had moved to stand just above him. A curse scorched the carpet beside him, a warning shot. Riddle was merely toying with him, and the realization only made Alastor angrier. Keeping his wand hidden beneath him, Alastor muttered the counter-curse under his breath, freeing his legs but remaining entirely still. He only had one last chance, and he needed the advantage of surprise.

"Giving up, then?" Riddle asked. He had leaned down now, cold voice in Alastor's ear.

"Not bloody likely," Alastor growled.

He rolled onto his back, coming face to face with a rather surprised Tom Riddle. Alastor shoved his wand upward towards Riddle's stomach.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Whether from the close range, or perhaps from Alastor's anger, the spell knocked Riddle backwards and off his feet, his wand sailing away. He landed in a heap across the room, the skulls along the wall laughing down at him. Someone, Josiah or Hagrid, might have cheered from the doorway, but Alastor paid them no mind. He pushed himself to his feet, moving slowly, everything hurting at this point, breathing and moving about equally as painful. Riddle's wand lay alone in the middle of the floor, and Alastor kicked it across the room without hesitation.

"I think," Alastor had to pause and catch his breath as he stopped beside Riddle, "I win."

"Yes, I suppose you do," Riddle murmured, looking a bit dazed. "Give us a hand?"

Before Alastor could respond one way or another, Riddle reached up, grabbing him around the wrist of his injured arm and pulling. The motion had been deliberate, the cold smile on Riddle's face rather gave that away, and pain exploded down Alastor's shoulder, so fierce and sudden it made the world tilt dangerously.

Someone had started shouting in the background, and Alastor knew he had staggered, was in danger of falling, Riddle's pale face and dark smile looming closer. Without thinking, he swung, catching Riddle's jaw with his fist and leveling the younger boy. The pull on his arm ceased abruptly as Riddle went limp, and Alastor sucked in a sharp breath, leaning down over him.

"And that's for Minerva, you great ruddy git!"

As though the words had broken some sort of spell, the last of Alastor's strength vanished entirely. He stumbled and fell, clutching at his shoulder with one hand as the adrenaline and anger drained out of him, leaving him beaten and bone-tired.

Faintly he was aware of hands and faces, Josiah frowning behind his glasses and Hagrid waving and snapping, trying to catch his attention. Everything blurred a bit, the world smearing into colors and shapes and laughing skulls, and there might have been movement, there on the edges. He blinked, or he thought he had only blinked, but suddenly Alastor found himself staring up at the high, lofted ceilings of the Hospital Wing, pink and orange sunrise creeping through the windows.

He spent most of Christmas Eve lying in bed under Madame Hewitt's strict orders. She had loaded him up on painkiller potions and sedatives, and for once Alastor had no intention of complaining. His shoulder had been healed properly at least, though the sling prevented much movement. Hagrid visited first, keeping his voice low as he told of how the six boys locked in the dungeon cupboard still had not been found. He had also brought a set of wizard's chess, and they played a few games before Hagrid had to leave for dinner.

The Goldsteins turned up next, back to their usual, solemn selves. Josiah explained how precisely they had transported him to the Hospital Wing, and how Madame Hewitt had been too worried to be furious, which was nice. Joshua adopted his vicious smile again and began whispering in German, which Josiah translated as an account of how Joshua had taken the liberty of charming Riddle and the rest of the Slytherin common room black and yellow. Alastor did not much mind, and in fact found the idea rather humorous, which seemed to be of some relief to Joshua. They bid him goodnight as the sky darkened outside the windows, the first stars twinkling to life. Alastor wished them a Merry Christmas, then went rather red as the brothers exchanged looks and burst out laughing.

He had not wanted to spend another night in the Hospital Wing, but Madame Hewitt refused to allow him to leave, not without another good night's sleep. She promised that his presents would be waiting for him when he woke up and then threatened him with more potions before he relented. The room fell away to darkness, stars dancing in the sky beyond the windows, snow bright on the windowsills. Alastor drifted off to sleep, and for the first time in weeks, he did not encounter horrible, frightening scenes...

* * *

He wandered through a snowy forest, bare trees stretching up toward the twilight sky. Tiberius strode along beside him, towering even taller than he did in real life, walking through this winter world like some old god from legends long past.

Geoffery and Donald waited in a clearing, having built themselves forts in the snow that glowed silver. Geoffery kept trying to give them directions, only he pointed a different way every time, and Donald drew cards from a tarot deck, frowning at the images before turning the cards into ravens that cawed and flew away. Augusta and Amelia launched snowballs at the ravens, but the snow turned to doves that fluttered away to the treetops and vanished from sight. Just at the edges of his vision, Charlus and Gabriel rode along the hilltop on horses made of ice and snow, dressed as knights just as they had been at Halloween. Charlus kept gesturing ahead with his sword, and Gabriel blew a silver trumpet that made no Goldsteins sat atop a fallen tree, teaching Albert to speak German, and Hagrid played a game of wizard's chess with Alphard Black, using the tree stump as a table and moving pieces made of ivory. All of them waved and smiled as Alastor and Tiberius passed, all of them pointing onward, deeper into the forest.

Most importantly of all though was Minerva, dark hair loose and curly, beautiful and fairy-like in the twilight. She led the way through the forest, holding him by the hand and pulling him onward. Every so often she would smile over her shoulder at him, urging him to hurry up for some strange reason, and of course Alastor did, because he would follow her anywhere, just to see that smile again.

* * *

_It's amazing how quick the updates are when it's only a matter of splitting up long chapters. Reviews, as always, are great and wonderful things. Consider them your good deed for the day - and you can never have enough of those, can you?_


	22. A Well Deserved Break

A/N - Sorry for the delay in posting everyone! I'm in my last few weeks of the semester and suddenly everyone's assigning papers. However, if the recent trend of "write one massive chapter, split it in two" keeps up, then there won't be much of an impact. So, thanks to all you awesome people who have been dropping reviews! This chapter brought to you by me feeling bad for abusing Alastor over the last couple of chapters...Enjoy!

* * *

December faded in the wake of Christmas and present and parties, dying slowly in dark midwinter nights. Finally, New Years arrived and welcomed January in a burst of bright fireworks against black skies. January, though, lacked the charm and the magic of December, nothing more than winter weather and slush on the sidewalks, endless gray clouds stretching on overhead. December had been bright colors and baubles, fairy lights and twinkling stars. January wore nothing more than monochromes.

No, the only excitement of dull, plain January came shortly after the year began, when a certain scarlet steam engine finally returned to Hogwarts School. Even in grey January life went on, and the students quickly fell back into the usual routines. Quidditch resumed despite the dreary weather, and Slytherin defeated Ravenclaw in the year's first match, much to the horror of everyone not in Slytherin House. Thanks to either the long winter nights, or perhaps the ever-approaching exams at the end of term, professors began to assign more and more homework, and everyone, especially the older students, found themselves chasing increasingly elusive free time.

As had happened for two years now, Professor Dumbledore inevitably asked Minerva if she might be interested in assisting a few students with their Transfiguration work. She agreed of course, just as she had the last two years, because she rather liked helping both the students and the professor, not to mention she had quite the knack for explaining the more complex spells, or so she had been told. Minerva arranged to meet with any interested students in the library, Wednesday nights at eight o'clock, and the numbers varied from week to week. The fifth-years began to be balanced out by the younger students, and even some seventh-years had turned up once or twice, though they seldom spoke or looked pleased to be there.

One particular Wednesday near the end of January, Minerva arrived at the library half an hour early, sighing wearily as she dropped her bag beside the table and considered taking a seat. Today had been a long day, and Potions had been miserable at best, and at present Minerva wanted nothing more than to return to her dormitory and sleep. No one else had made an appearance yet, not that Minerva had expected anyone to be there so early, and she decided to take the opportunity of the free time to look for a book she needed for her Charms essay. Free time was difficult enough to come by, after all, and this would save her a trip to the library later.

Wandering through the stacks, eyes scanning over the spines of the books and searching for a familiar name, Minerva instead caught sight of a familiar figure just around the next shelf. His shaggy red hair caught the light, and he had rolled his sleeves back, forearms bare as he reached for a book on one of the higher shelves, thin white scars barely visible against the back of his hand. Minerva watched him for a moment before speaking.

"I must be seeing things," Minerva said.

Alastor spun on his heels, startled and nearly dropping the book. His face broke into a wide grin as he realized who had spoken, and this time when he fumbled the book he managed the catch a bit quicker.

"And why might that be?"

"I wasn't under the impression you willingly ventured into the library."

"Well, wasn't exactly willingly," Alastor admitted. "Tiberius and I were working on an essay. We've been forced to do research, as someone was noticeably absent."

"Doing your own homework for once?" Minerva shook her head in mock concern. "I'm so terribly sorry to hear that."

"Don't suppose you're here finishing up your essay?" Alastor asked. "Or better yet, you've already finished it?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm here for my study group," Minerva replied.

"Study group?"

"My weekly tutoring session for Transfiguration students."

"Oh," Alastor said, considering this. "Couldn't you meet some place a bit more...comfortable?"

"Some of us actually like the library, you know," Minerva said. "Use it for research and that sort of thing."

"So I've been told."

She shot him a pointed look overtop of her glasses, but he simply pretended not to see, attention instead on the book in his hand. He was definitely still grinning though, the prat. Minerva glanced back over her shoulder, toward the table and her bag, and as far as she could tell no one else had arrived. Not much time had passed at all, really, and Minerva decided her day could do with some improvement.

"Will Tiberius be missing you?"

"Probably not," Alastor replied. "Told him I didn't exactly intend to hurry."

"Fancy taking a bit of break then?" Minerva asked.

Alastor glanced up from his study of the book, looking to see if perhaps she meant what he thought she had. Fortunately, she had meant exactly that, and Alastor set the book back down on the nearest shelf as quickly as he could manage.

"You know, I think I might. Just ah...just a quick break, I suppose?"

Minerva reached out and took his hand, tugging him along.

"Group starts at eight."

He quickened his pace at that, fingers ghosting along her arm as she led the way deeper into the library. This was probably a completely mental idea, but somehow the risk made it even more appealing. Besides, they had not, in Minerva's opinion, made up for time lost over the holidays. Alastor, for his part, seemed inclined to agree.

After the holidays, Minerva had returned to find Alastor far less melancholy. For the first time since November, the old Alastor had returned, still gruff as always but at least laughing and smiling and joking. She had a strong suspicion that something had happened over Christmas holidays to cause this sudden change, but any questions about his time at the castle led to short, tight responses of "fine" or "fairly boring." Eventually, Minerva had stopped asking. Whatever had happened, Alastor looked to be in one piece and seemed significantly more lighthearted, and that was good enough for her.

They reached the back corner near the Restricted Section, where heavy shadows fell between the bookshelves and dust motes danced in the broken beams of light. Alastor barely hesitated before pulling her close and kissing her soundly. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and school and worry and stress fell away beneath slow kisses and soft touches. Minerva had just begun working at Alastor's tie when she heard what she swore was footsteps, halting abruptly and turning to glance over her shoulder.

"What was that?"

"Probably nothing," Alastor grumbled, frowning all the same as he leaned past her for a look of his own.

They watched the shadows for a moment, peering through the spaces between the shelves and waiting for even the flicker of movement, both of them holding their breath. Nothing passed across the light, no further sound was made, and Minerva began to suspect that her nerves had merely been playing tricks on her.

"Nothing," Alastor concluded. "Although if you'd like, I'll go see if there's a ghost lurking about."

For a moment, she thought he might have been serious, then realized first that a ghost would have made no sound, and second that Alastor was smirking.

"Or I could just send you back to your essay work."

"Wouldn't really do that to me, would you?" Alastor asked, managing an almost-innocent expression.

"If you don't behave, I might."

"I always behave."

"And lying is still frowned upon," Minerva replied.

Alastor grinned crookedly at her, about to reply, but Minerva occupied his mouth with hers before any more sarcastic comments could be made. Not that he seemed to especially mind the interruption. One of his hands tangled in her hair, which she had actually bothered to braid earlier today and now fell loose down her back. Minerva traced patterns across his arms, working her way upwards, and this time it was Alastor who pulled back suddenly, halfway turning to place himself between Minerva and the bookshelf.

"What?" Minerva asked, keeping her voice low and resisting an urge to tell him off for immediately pushing her out of the way.

"I..." Alastor paused, holding his breath. "Sorry...I just thought I...I'd heard something."

"You're being a bit paranoid," Minerva whispered.

"Oh really?" Alastor asked, arching an eyebrow. "You looked first, and I'm the paranoid one?"

"At least I actually heard something," Minerva replied, kneading his neck with her fingers.

Alastor's eyes closed as he relaxed beneath her touch, and any intention he had of arguing vanished entirely. Instead he kissed her again, big hands gentle as they held her close. Minerva had closed her eyes as well, just beginning to drift away into the feel of the kiss again when a soft noise drew her attention. Irritated and determined not to lose any more time to phantom interruptions, Minerva ignored the sound and instead resumed her efforts against the tie. Alastor's mouth and hands provided enough distraction to make this slightly challenging, however, especially when he started trailing kisses down her neck.

"Alastor," she managed, quietly as possible. "Al!"

"Hmm?"

Alastor met her eyes, disheveled and dashingly handsome, red hair caught in a beam of light and glowing against the darkness.

"You're making this exceedingly difficult."

"What, you trying to undress me in the library?" Alastor asked, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"It's only your tie," Minerva pointed out. "But strictly speaking, yes."

Alastor laughed and shook his head, loosening the offending tie and dropping it on the floor.

"There. And here I thought you were going to complain about the noise."

"You heard that too?" Minerva asked.

"I was pretending I didn't," Alastor replied, moving to kiss her again.

"I see. Perhaps...we ought to continue this...another time..?" Minerva suggested, speaking in the fleeting moments between kisses.

"Awful idea," Alastor murmured, "Quite possibly the worst you've ever had."

"So what do we do if someone's there?"

Alastor glanced up now, eyes flicking past her toward the shelves.

"There's not."

"We'd get in trouble," Minerva pointed out, though her hands had pulled him closer again, trailing down his back. She had officially reached the conclusion that any trouble would be entirely worth this, but saw no reason not to make a few teasing comments anyway.

Alastor merely leaned down, breath warm against her cheek as he whispered, "We just might."

She shivered then, pressing her lips along his jaw until she reached his mouth once more.

"You're impossible," Minerva murmured halfheartedly.

"Bout time you got around to saying that," Alastor replied. "I hadn't been reminded yet today."

She ignored the rumbling laugh that she felt more than heard, rolling her eyes as she kissed him instead. Some part of his answer caught in her mind though, some word clung and seemed rather important. Something to do with...

"Time!" Minerva gasped. "What time is it?"

Alastor frowned confusedly, nonetheless digging through his pocket to retrieve his watch.

"Ten until eight. Why?"

"I have to go," Minerva answered. "The group, they'll be waiting for me."

"Oh." Alastor said, not bothering to hide his disappointment. "Suppose I ought to get back to my work too then."

"I do appreciate your taking time out of your busy schedule," Minerva said, kissing him lightly.

"Best part of my day so far," Alastor replied.

The kiss quickly turned not-so-light, and Minerva hated that she had to break away altogether too soon.

"I really do have to go," Minerva said.

"Can't believe you'd rather go teach," Alastor grumbled, doing his best to pout.

She could not tell if he was genuinely put out, or if he was merely trying to tease her. Either way, Minerva felt bad enough already for having to leave, and he was only making this worse. Which had, upon further thought, probably been his intention.

"It's not teaching. I'm mostly just helping them along," Minerva replied.

She ran both hands through his shaggy hair, which had already been just shy of standing on end and now looked as though he had just been riding a broom at top speed.

"Hmph," was Alastor's only reply, still pouting.

"Besides, who said I don't want to stay?" Minerva asked, figuring she ought to try and stop the sulking before she departed. "My back, perhaps, might like to leave, but otherwise I'm quite happy."

She had been mostly joking, although the edge of the table she had been leaning against really had begun to cause some slight discomfort. Alastor, however, grinned wickedly, and Minerva realized what he intended to do a second too late.

"Well, why didn't you say so?"

Easily he lifted her off her feet and seated her atop the long table that ran in front of the bookshelves. Minerva tightened her hold around his neck reflexively, and based on his widening grin that had been part of the plan. Oh, she would get him for that.

"I appreciate the warning," she muttered, fixing him with another look and crossing her arms.

"You asked, really," Alastor countered. "Besides, more comfortable, isn't it?"

"True enough," Minerva allowed.

Alastor ignored the edge to her answer, grinning again as he bent over and pressed his palms against the table on either side of her. Wordlessly, Minerva slipped her wand from her pocket and held it behind her back, casting the best Sticking Charm she could manage. She had a bit more time before she really had to leave, after all. Trying her best not to smirk and give anything away, Minerva looped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, lips teasing at first before deepening the kiss once more. Alastor responded enthusiastically, but he discovered rather quickly, and with some small amount of panic, that his hands remained unmoving against the tabletop.

"Er, Minerva..."

"Yes?"

"Did you...ah..." Alastor paused, attempting to free first one arm, then the other. When neither attempt succeeded, he sighed, gazing falling toward the floor. "Very funny."

"As a lady," Minerva began, fingers creeping up his chest. "I can't say I appreciate being picked up at random."

"Yes. Well. When the lady in question all but dragged me back here in the first place, I think that's a bit unfair," Alastor grumbled, shoulders flexing as he tried once more to free himself.

"I don't recall doing any dragging," Minerva replied, grinning wickedly as Alastor began to squirm.

"You going to undo the charm?"

"Maybe."

Alastor watched her warily, gaze passing from her hands to her face and back again.

"What do you mean, 'maybe'?"

"Do you trust me?" Minerva asked.

"Of course," Alastor answered without hesitation. "But what's that got to do with-"

"It means I'm not going to leave you stuck here," Minerva replied. "Not all night, anyway."

"I certainly appreciate that."

"I thought you might."

"So if I apologize, will you undo the charm?" Alastor asked, chancing a grin.

Minerva matched his grin but shook her head, and Alastor's shoulders slumped in answer, even when Minerva's foot trailed up along his trousers.

"I'm much more entertained with you stuck to the table, I have to say."

Alastor muttered something under his breath, shoulders flexing again as he pulled against the charms. Minerva sighed, placing her hands against either side of his face and tilting his gaze up to meet hers. He watched her for a moment, unsure and uncertain but content to wait, light falling in bands across his face. Minerva traced her fingers across his skin as though memorizing feel and form, his dark eyes never leaving hers. He watched her until her thumbs brushed beneath his eyes, and then his gaze vanished and he looked, for a moment, entirely at peace. She leaned down to kiss him then, soft and slow, and there was no rush this time, no hurried pace, just a steadiness, long and deep.

"Min," he breathed when she at last pulled away.

At the softness in his voice, her heart missed a few beats as the butterflies in her stomach began going a bit mad. Minerva had been too out of breath to respond, and one of Alastor's eyes snapped open as he realized he had spoken out loud.

"Well, that's new," Minerva said at last.

"Sorry." Alastor began to turn rather red, grinning a bit sheepishly. "I didn't, ah-"

"Oh, stop," Minerva interrupted.

She managed to look serious for a moment before smiling widely. Alastor simply looked horribly confused and turned redder still.

"It's fine. I think it's nice."

"You do?" Alastor asked, blinking in surprise.

When she nodded, he breathed a sigh of relief and tried to kiss her again. Unfortunately, she sat just out of reach, and he scowled, growling a bit in frustration, much to her amusement. Had he still been wearing the tie, she might have given the thing a tug, just to tease him further.

"Suppose it's only fair, really," Alastor muttered, "since I let you get away with Al."

"You _let _me get away with Al?" Minerva repeated, arching an eyebrow at him. Easily she slid from her seat, and Alastor, still trapped by the table and unable to move or back away, seemed to realize his error, eyes widening.

"You _let _met get away with Al?"

He looked as though he meant to attempt an explanation, but Minerva closed the last hint of distance between them and all that came out was a strangled sort of noise. Minerva's smirk widened.

"I suppose I could always switch to _Ally_, if you prefer," Minerva whispered.

Alastor grimaced, shaking his head fiercely.

"You know, I think Al's just fine."

"That's what I thought."

With a quick brush of her lips against his cheek, Minerva slipped beneath one of his arms, only breaking the Sticking Charm once she was already out of reach. Alastor straightened with a relieved expression, shifting his shoulders and waggling his fingers as though checking to make sure everything still worked.

"Thanks."

"My pleasure," Minerva replied.

She turned her attention to making herself a bit more presentable, because arriving at the study session coated in a fine layer of dust would be a slight giveaway. Meeting up in the library was not without its perils, after all. Her hair would simply have to suffice, because she simply had no time to attempt any sort of braids, though with any luck no one would notice that particular change.

"You look lovely," Alastor assured her.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Minerva said.

"Worth a try, anyway," Alastor murmured, shrugging. Had Minerva been standing close enough, she might have hit him. "How long you going to be?"

"Probably an hour, maybe a bit more," Minerva guessed. "Usually they don't take very long. Why?"

"Do you want me to wait for you?"

"You'd lurk about in the library for an hour to wait for me?" Minerva asked, honestly more than a bit surprised.

Alastor, meanwhile, only looked surprised at the doubt in her tone.

"Course I would. Besides, still got that stupid essay to do anyway. I'd go to the group with you, but Merlin knows I don't need any help with Transfiguration. My skills are unparalleled. Save by yours, of course."

"And such a humble soul you are," Minerva sighed, rolling her eyes.

"You know you love me."

"For some utterly mad reason, I certainly seem to," Minerva agreed.

She had been cleaning her glasses, and thus really only had the vague impression that Alastor's face had brightened at her words. When her glasses were back in place, and all the world solid and real again, Alastor had retrieved his tie and picked up his bag.

"I do thank you for your time, kind sir," she said.

"Anything for you, milady," Alastor replied.

This of course led to another kiss or two, that started out as light, quick goodbyes but rapidly became anything but light. They reached the end of the aisle at least before Minerva managed to push him back against the outside of the shelf.

"Think you've got this backwards," he rumbled.

"Rubbish."

She could feel his laugh, his heartbeat racing in time with hers as his hands slid down her back, pressing her close. Time might have stopped, or at least, she wished it had, because now leaving seemed an incredibly difficult thing to do.

"WHAT-" The first word was loud and sudden in the quiet library, and Minerva jumped in surprise, Alastor's hold tightening around her. The second try came in a strained whisper.

"What. In Merlin's name. Are you _doing_?"

Minerva turned to find a red-faced and horrified-looking Tiberius Kirk, a book dangling limply from one hand.

"What does it look like we're doing?" Alastor growled. He had gone dangerously red as well, and Minerva did her best to keep him from reaching Tiberius. As much as she might have been irritated, and a bit embarrassed, by the interruption, letting Alastor maim his best friend did not seem like a grand idea.

"I'm not answering that," Tiberius muttered. He squeezed his eyes shut as though trying to pretend he had seen nothing at all. "You said you were goin' ta find a book!"

"He was," Minerva said. "I sort of...stumbled across him."

"Yes. Hm. Stumbling. Right," Tiberius replied.

"Why didn't you just wait at the bloody table?" Alastor demanded, voice beginning to rise now.

"You dinnae come back, and I was a bit worried you'd manage to get lost, and if you're wondering I found tha book," Tiberius concluded weakly, holding up the book as proof.

Alastor began muttering under his breath what exactly Tiberius could do with that book, and Minerva sighed, shaking her head. They would probably never hear the end of this.

"I," Minerva began, stepping slowly out from between the boys, just in case someone's temper happened to let loose, "am going to my lesson."

She kissed Alastor on the cheek, turning his chin with her hand so that he was no longer glowering up at Tiberius.

"Go finish your essay, and don't kill him, and I'll see you after."

Alastor mumbled a halfway reply, but seemed to mostly agree. He had at least stopped making overt threats. Satisfied that she would not be required to clean up any messes or messy spells, Minerva then turned her attention to Tiberius, glaring at him overtop of her glasses with the best prefect-stare she could manage.

"And you, had better not tell a soul."

"I'm tryin' ta pretend I never saw it myself, I assure you," Tiberius muttered.

Looking from Tiberius to Alastor once more, Minerva nodded and then turned to walk away. She managed about six steps before furious whispering broke out behind her, but she ignored the noise and kept walking. The break had been quite nice, at least until Tiberius had interrupted their goodbyes. Minerva would have to worry about dealing with him later though, because now she was perilously close to being late.

* * *

_A/N - Poor Tiberius. *snickers* Anyway, like I said, next chapter will be up as soon as I get the time to run through and edit. Also, this chapter starts what's basically "Part 2" in my head, and epic-ness will be going down all term. There's a certain key incident we're building up to, after all...So being (roughly) halfway through the story, if you've been reading along and haven't reviewed, now would be a smashing time to do so, lemme know what you think, etc. For those that have been reviewing, I thank you again (with deep and boundless gratitude) and continue to look forward to what you've got to say. _


	23. Study Group, and Its Perils

A/N - Told you it'd be a quick update. ;)

* * *

The table that had been so emphatically empty before now seated six all but silent students, Minerva's bag resting in the lone free chair. Six pairs of eyes watched as she approached, some more pleased to see her than others.

"Hullo, Minerva!" John Lupin said excitedly. John, a first year, had fallen ill just before the holidays and had thus fallen a bit behind in class. He still looked rather pale and peaky, but he talked more than anyone else and acted perfectly healthy. When Minerva arrived, he had been attempting to discuss the joys of chocolate frog cards with a baffled Joshua Goldstein, who looked relieved to have escaped the conversation. "We thought you were going to be late."

"I'm right on time, I think," Minerva replied, smiling as she took her seat.

"Exactly on time," Josiah Goldstein agreed, checking his watch.

The Goldstein brothers had attended since the first meeting, always solemn and polite. Minerva suspected that had the lessons been in German, the Goldsteins would have been the ones doing the tutoring. Josiah at least seemed to only be there to translate for his older brother, though on occasion he would ask questions about his own lessons as well.

"At least you're here now," Myrtle Henderson said.

That sort of greeting from Myrtle usually meant that prior to Minerva's arrival, Olive Hornby, another Ravenclaw second-year, had been dropping teasing and otherwise unpleasant remarks in her classmate's direction. Sometimes Olive was genuinely just making jokes, but more often the girl said some rather cruel things. Once Myrtle had left the library over a comment about her glasses, tears imminent, and Minerva had had a serious conversation with Olive afterward. She doubted much good had actually been done, because Olive still always looked as though she had just made some particularly snide remark, but never where Minerva could hear. At present, Oliver had started doodling on spare bit of parchment.

"Yes, let's get on with this, shall we?" Johanna Priest requested.

The lone seventh year, Johanna had never attempted to pretend that she enjoyed attending these gatherings. Her marks were dismal at best though, and Professor Dumbledore had expressly required her to make use of Minerva's assistance.

"Alright, yes, let's get started," Minerva said, pretending to ignore Johanna's tone. "What's everyone brought for this week?"

All at once a chorus of rustling parchment broke out as everyone began digging through their bags for books and quills and class notes. John began talking already, words running together in an unintelligible mess. Josiah's watch still lay on the table, and Minerva leaned over to check the time as discreetly as possible. With any luck, everyone would have simple questions, there would be no teasing of Myrtle, and time would pass quickly. As much as Minerva enjoyed helping these students, tonight she had other places where should would much rather be, and in much different company.

As typical when one wishes time to hurry along, the meeting began to drag. Augusta wandered by once, just in time to inadvertently halt an almost-spat between Olive and Myrtle. Geoffery waved over and armload of books, and might have stopped to talk if he had not been trying to keep up with Duncan Longbottom. Neither Alastor nor Tiberius made any appearances, which was probably for the best. Minerva would have sworn that she spotted Tom Riddle watching her from across the next aisle, but the next time she looked he had vanished.

Most of her time was spent helping explain the mechanics of Conjuring Spells to Joshua Goldstein. This, at least, was complex enough magic that it kept her mind from wandering too badly. He seemed to understand, more or less, and every so often he would ask a question that his brother would translate. At one point, Minerva found herself discussing phoneme construction and the inherent differences in pronunciation. Eventually, Joshua began conjuring keys, for whatever reason, and Josiah seemed satisfied about the phonemes. Minerva concluded that the lesson had thus been a success. While Josiah combed through his own notes for any further questions, Minerva rose to round the table and see how everyone else was progressing.

"Am I doing this right?" John asked.

He frowned, wand held over an eraser he had spent the last half hour trying to transfigure into an egg. Before Minerva could answer one way or another, John tapped his wand against the eraser and murmured the incantation.

"I think your pronunciation's might be wrong," Minerva said. "Try emphasizing the first syllable."

"Right." John's face screwed up in concentration. "I could maybe get a different eraser if I needed to, because that could be the problem, or at least I thought maybe it was-"

"Just the words, that's all," Minerva assured him.

John, who had paused for a breath, smiled widely and returned his attention to the eraser. At the next seats, Myrtle and Oliver had devolved into a small-scale argument.

"You're doing it wrong!" Olive insisted.

"No I'm not, you were just in the way," Myrtle replied.

"Maybe if you could actually see," Olive hissed. "Those great, thick glasses of yours can't be doing much."

Myrtle gasped, lip trembling, and Minerva stepped between the pair of them before anything wound up too out of hand.

"Didn't we already talk about behaving during these lessons?"

"It's not fair I have to work with her," Olive muttered, crossing her arms sullenly.

If possible, Myrtle looked even closer to tears.

"Well maybe I don't want to work with you either!"

"Merlin, I need some air," Johanna said, rising from her seat and shoving the chair back in viciously.

"Are you...have you actually finished?" Minerva asked. She was younger, strictly speaking, and note entirely sure of whether or not she could tell Johanna what to do.

"For now," Johanna replied.

"Why don't you wait," Minerva suggested.

"I'd rather not," Johanna replied.

Minerva meant to argue, because really they ought to just finish and be done with the meeting in general. Olive chose that time to take another jab at Myrtle and the pair of them began bickering around Minerva, drowning out nearby conversations. The intervention would have gone smoother had John not managed, at precisely that moment, to transfigure the eraser into an eel.

The second-year girls shrieked and leaped away from the table as John apologized hurriedly.

"I'm sorry! I think I might have used the wrong word, or I guess I must have, I'm really sorry!"

"It's alright," Minerva said wearily.

The eel slithered off the table and flopped along the floor, growing as John hit the creature with a spell that had probably been intended to reverse the original transfiguration. Minerva could not quite reach the eel from this side of the table, and by now it had reached the size of a large snake. Fortunately, Joshua and Josiah managed to catch the eel, although Joshua's attempted grab earned him a slight shock. Shouting in German ensued, and a couple of quick bangs, and then the eel was an eraser once more, albeit one that looked a bit scorched.

"Sorry," John murmured again, taking the eraser back and keeping his eyes on the floor.

"Is alright," Josiah said. "Easy to fix."

"Thank you," Minerva said.

The brothers both gave a rare smile at that, and Joshua halfway bowed for good measure. Minerva shook her head, intending to check the time again when she noticed that Johanna had actually left.

"Oh, Merlin. I'll be right back," Minerva sighed. She pointed to the Goldsteins as she turned to leave. "Don't let anything happen while I'm gone."

Josiah saluted, and Joshua nodded curtly, murmuring under his breath in German again. Minerva did not wait for a translation, storming through the library in search of Johanna Priest. The blond ought to have been easy to pick out, but she did not appear to still be anywhere in the area. Madame Pince glowered as Minerva passed, probably because of the eel and the shouting that had ensued. Really it was a wonder the disagreeable librarian had not kicked them all out. Minerva pretended not to see Madame Pince's glare, swinging open the door and crossing out into the hall.

The corridor stretched wide and empty on either side, torchlight dancing on the walls and no sign of anyone at all in the shadows beneath.

"Johanna?"

No one answered, not even footsteps, and Minerva began to feel more than a bit annoyed.

"Johanna, really, I know you don't want to be there, but we're nearly finished."

Still no answer, and Minerva glanced down the hall and back. If she recalled, there was a bathroom further along the corridor to the right. Perhaps she ought to check there first.

"The rest of us do have other places to be tonight, you know," Minerva said, hoping that she was not talking to herself. "Johanna, really!"

At last there was an answer, even if the answer was nothing more than a scream. The noise shattered the night, high and shrill and frightened, echoing from just around the corner. Minerva drew her wand, ignoring the cold flicker of fear that sliced through her at the sound. She dashed around the corner, wand at the ready, having no idea what to expect and yet still shocked at the sight that waited for her.

Minerva gasped, stumbling to a halt as her free hand flew to her heart. Johanna lay frozen on the floor, a Muggle compact mirror in one hand and a tube of lipstick in the other.

"J-johanna?" Minerva managed, knowing the older girl would not answer and yet still halfway hoping for some response.

Johanna did in fact remain unmoving, but further along down the hall, Minerva swore she saw the shadows shifting. She took a half-step forward, peering into the darkness.

"Who's there?"

She lit her wand, but even the added brightness did not reveal whatever had been lurking there within the shadows. There was a dry, rustling sound, like dead leaves in the wind, and Minerva stayed as still as possible, waiting and watching. Whoever had attacked Johanna had not yet left.

"Minerva!"

The noise ceased instantly, and Minerva whirled in answer to the voice, wand light blinding Alastor and Tiberius as they rounded the corner.

"Merlin, could you put that out?" Alastor asked, eyes squeezed shut.

"Sorry." Minerva doused her wand, and both boys began trying to clear their vision.

Alastor spoke first, still squinting a bit and keeping his own wand down at his side.

"You alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Minerva replied. "I had just come to look for Johanna. But where did you...?"

"Oh!" Alastor paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Well we...we went to find you, and Josiah said you'd gone...out...here..."

He trailed off as he finally caught sight of Johanna. Tiberius had been watching Alastor with an odd expression, but now his eyes widened as he, too, realized that another student had been petrified.

"Merlin! Did you...did you see what happened?"

"No," Minerva replied. "But there was...I thought I'd heard something."

"Where?" Alastor asked, fingers lingering on her arm as he brushed past.

"Up ahead." Minerva gestured toward the shadowed end of the corridor. "It was just this odd...rustling...thing."

If either Tiberius or Alastor found this description odd, neither of them said so. Instead, Alastor waved Tiberius on ahead, and the lanky Scotsman rose to his feet and wandered down the corridor, wand raised high. Shadows fled before his footsteps, but the hall turned out to be entirely empty.

"Rubbish," Minerva sighed. "I swear I heard something."

"I believe you," Alastor murmured, stepping closer now. "You're alright though?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Minerva said. "Really."

Alastor looked both worried and unconvinced, much to her irritation.

"You're sure?"

"I'm quite sure. Thank you."

He nearly argued again, but Tiberius chose that moment to return.

"Nothing. Whoever it was, they're gone now."

"Alright, then we..." Minerva paused, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We need to get her to Madame Hewitt. I suppose the meeting's done for the night."

"Suppose I'll wait here then, and you can go tell them," Tiberius said. Then, when Alastor cleared his throat, he amended his statement to, "Second thought, I'll go myself. Want me ta just...meet you at the Hospital Wing?"

"That'll be fine," Minerva replied, not entirely enthused that the boys had just decided to take charge.

Tiberius cast another odd look at Alastor before jogging back the toward the library, footfalls heavy in the dark.

"Maybe I wanted to go back myself," Minerva said.

"Did you?" Alastor asked. He had yet to stop frowning at her.

"Maybe."

Honestly she had not had much of a preference one way or another, not until the matter had been decided for her.

"Hmm," was all Alastor said, levitating Johanna onto the stretcher he had conjured.

Minerva clenched her teeth, determined not to have an argument with him about this. She could walk away, go rejoin Tiberius and simply do whatever she liked. She had a rather strong feeling though that Alastor would wind up following her, which made all this far more frustrating than it needed to be. Merlin, but why couldn't Johanna have just stayed in the library?

"Come on," Minerva said.

Initially, she strode past Alastor without stopping to wait. He caught up quickly though, levitating the stretcher along ahead of them as he fell into step beside her.

"You sure you're-"

"If you ask me one more time, I'm going to hex you," Minerva said cooly. "Yes, I'm fine."

"And you didn't see who it was?"

"No. I might have, if you and Tiberius hadn't turned up."

"In which case, I'm terribly sorry for coming to the rescue," Alastor muttered.

"Who said I needed rescuing?" Minerva demanded, waiting a few steps so that Alastor stood lower on the staircase than she did.

"Figure of speech," Alastor grumbled. "Wasn't trying to offend you."

"Oh. Well. Good," Minerva replied, slightly taken aback. "Because I didn't."

She had been startled, shocked perhaps, but never scared, certainly not. Upon hearing the rustling noise at the end of the corridor, she had been more curious than anything else, and of course a lingering sense of horror hung at the back of her mind. Nothing that required rescuing in the slightest, especially since Minerva felt herself more than capable of dealing with whoever had been running about petrifying students.

"Never said you did," Alastor said.

For a moment, Minerva thought she might have offended him about the whole matter. Then he glanced over his shoulder and winked at her.

"You coming?"

"Yes," Minerva sighed, rolling her eyes as she hurried her pace down the stairs.

Alastor began to laugh, and failed to realize that he had steered the stretcher into a wall. Minerva retrieved her own wand and corrected the mistake before Johanna could be sent tumbling onto the floor.

"Er...sorry. Thought I had a better angle," Alastor murmured, going a bit red.

"At least you didn't actually drop her," Minerva replied.

"Fair enough."

Her hand reached out and found his, fingers entwined almost immediately.

"I heard her," Minerva said after a moment. "She screamed, and I ran to try and help."

"Merlin," Alastor breathed, glancing down at her in alarm. "I didn't realize you were _that_ close."

"I could've caught them," Minerva muttered. "Or at least given them a good fight."

"You'd have caught them. I certainly wouldn't cross you," Alastor replied. "Not to mention, you wouldn't have been petrified at least."

Minerva meant to ask him why, then recalled the conversation they had had before Christmas and instead shot him a pointed look.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I'm just-" Alastor faltered as she continued to glare at him. "I'll just stop now."

"Probably a good idea," Minerva agreed.

They finally reached the Hospital Wing, Alastor pushing open one door as Minerva guided the stretcher inside. Madame Hewitt spotted Alastor first as he closed the door behind him.

"And you're in trouble again, I'd imagine," the nurse said. "Can't stand to stop jumping into fights, can you?"

"I...no, I wasn't, actually," Alastor spluttered, too surprised to manage to defend himself properly.

Ordinarily, the odds of Madame Hewitt being correct in her guess would have been rather good. On this occasion, however, Minerva happened to have evidence to the contrary.

"He wasn't. We were just bringing Johanna."

"Bringing Johanna?" Madame Hewitt repeated.

She spotted Johanna for the first time, lying atop the floating stretcher. The nurse gasped at first, then shook her head, waving Minerva out of the way.

"Another one. Merlin, I'd been hoping this would stop after the holidays."

Alastor looked rather relieved when the nurse shifted her attention from him to the petrified Johanna. Madame Hewitt cast a few charms, then shook her head again as she directed the stretcher deeper into the room. Wordlessly, Minerva and Alastor followed.

Dark sky hung in the windows, white beds gleaming, crisp and clean, and the floor beneath them had been polished to perfection. At the end of the row of beds, a long curtain had been hung, and it was on the other side of this curtain where Madame Hewitt directed the stretcher. Johanna Priest was deposited atop an empty bed, filling in the next space in the row of victims. All three, well, four now, could have been statues, carved marble mimicking skin. Gabriel Valentine's frozen faced looked merely surprised – the other three victims wore terrified masks. Minerva shuddered and turned away, pretending to clean her glasses, and when Alastor scowled and looked away as well she pretended not to notice.

"You two, sit." Madame Hewitt said.

She gestured from Alastor and Minerva to the bed across from the victims, and they quickly obeyed. Minerva had a hard time not feeling nervous, even knowing she had done nothing wrong. She sat atop the blankets, the mattress shifting as Alastor took his seat beside her. If Madame Hewitt noticed or cared how close the pair of them were sitting, she made no comment.

"What happened?"

"Johanna was...she was at my Transfiguration group," Minerva replied. This required a brief pause to explain the nature of this group, which Minerva managed easily enough. "She stepped out for...for some air."

Minerva could picture Johanna walking along the hall, annoyed, feet stabbing the stone floor with every step. She would have gone to the bathroom, perhaps just to say that was where she had been. Then she must have paused in the hall to fix her makeup, had probably heard Minerva calling for her, come to think of it. Minerva could not help but be a bit annoyed by the thought of being deliberately ignored, even knowing that in the end, Johanna had found herself petrified.

"Did you see anyone else go with her?" Madame Hewitt asked gently.

"I...no, I can't recall seeing anyone," Minerva said.

Try as she might, Minerva honestly could not remember seeing anyone leaving the library with Johanna. Then again, she had not even seen Johanna herself leave. The scene with Olive and Myrtle, accompanied by the incident with the eel, had proved more than slightly distracting.

"Alright," the nurse said, seemingly satisfied, with Minerva at least. Her attention quickly shifted to Alastor. "And what about you?"

"What about me?" he asked. "I didn't see anything at all."

"Then why are you here?"

"Came outside the library, and Minerva had already...she'd already found her, I suppose," Alastor replied. "I thought I'd go along with her. Just in case."

"And neither of you saw anything?" Madame Hewitt asked again, gaze passing from Minerva to Alastor and back again.

"I...I thought I might have heard something," Minerva said hesitantly. "Sort of a rustling sound."

"Rustling?"

"Er...yes."

Tiberius and Alastor might not have thought the idea odd, but Madame Hewitt certainly seemed a bit baffled. The nurse frowned, looking as though she was trying to decide whether or not Minerva might need to stay in the Hospital Wing herself.

"Alright," Madame Hewitt said finally. "I probably ought to send you along to the Headmaster."

"Ah...really?" Alastor asked.

Even entirely innocent on this occasion, Minerva could not rightly say she wanted to pay a visit to Professor Dippet. Somehow informing him that another student had been petrified seemed like a hazardous conversation at best.

"Well, I suppose I could talk to him myself," Madame Hewitt mused. She paused then, considering the idea for a moment. "Wait here."

The nurse turned and left, striding back to her office near the doors. The moment she vanished from sight, Alastor fell back onto the bed with a groan, hands pressed against his face.

"Merlin, is it too much to ask for a quiet night?"

"Apparently," Minerva sighed.

What seemed like ages ago, they had been kissing in the library and teasing about ghosts and ties and sticking charms. Now they sat an aisle away from four petrified students, among them a girl who had until quite recently been speaking and sullen and very much alive.

"I swear I heard something," Minerva insisted.

"I said I believed you."

"_She_ didn't."

"Who cares what the nurse thinks?" Alastor asked. "She also thinks I run about leaping into fights with anyone who gives me an odd look."

"You mean you don't?" Minerva countered, feigning surprise.

Alastor parted his fingers enough to shoot her a baleful look with one eye.

"No. As a matter of fact I do not. Leaping is beneath me."

"Oh, is it now?"

Alastor sat up, sensing an argument grinning eagerly. He had raised a finger, mouth open and fully intent on responding when the door crashed open at the end of the room. Tiberius had arrived, carrying three bags over his shoulders and an armload of books and parchment. He also earned the weight of Madame Hewitt's anger as she swooped out from within her office.

"What do you think you're doing, Mr. Kirk?"

"I...theirs...things," Tiberius managed, halfway out of breath and halfway surprised. He gestured toward the bags, or at least, shrugged his shoulder in their direction, but Madame Hewitt seemed to mostly understand.

"Go on then. And keep quiet, will you? This is a hospital, for Merlin's sake!"

Tiberius smiled weakly until Madame Hewitt returned to her office. As soon as the door had closed, he shot a glare in the direction the nurse had gone before storming down to join Alastor and Minerva. He spared only a passing glance for the four students frozen behind the curtain, dumping the books and bags and papers on the free bed nearest to where Alastor and Minerva presently sat. With a menacing look at the jumbled mess that resulted, Tiberius sank to a seat on the relatively clean space near the footboard. Facing away from the door, elbows propped on his knees, Tiberius at last sighed and ran both hands through his hair, leaving the curls standing on end.

"What took you so long?" Alastor whispered, reaching out to retrieve his bag. He halted his efforts as soon as Tiberius glanced up sharply at him, still definitely glaring.

"Had ta go find our things, and then had to send off tha little study group, which of course included breaking up a small fight between that girl we found crying in tha bathroom and some other unpleasant little Ravenclaw," Tiberius replied, counting off on his fingers.

"Oh, Merlin, I'd forgotten about them." Minerva shook her head wearily. "Did you take care of everything?"

"Mostly. Tha one looked near ta tears, but there's naught I could do. Sent them back ta their common room. The first year, Lupin, Merlin but does he ever stop talking?"

"Not that I'm yet aware of," Minerva replied.

"Anyway," Tiberius went on, "tha Goldsteins said ta tell you goodnight, and that they'll see you next week, if not sooner. Least, that's what one of them said, I imagine tha other said tha same."

"Probably a fair bet," Alastor agreed.

"Did you tell any of them, ah, _why_ we had to call it a night?" Minerva asked.

"Not tha younger ones," Tiberius replied. "Dinnae want ta worry them. Told Josiah and Joshua though."

If the goal had been to keep from concerning too many people, Minerva failed to see why the Goldsteins had been informed.

"Why is alright to worry them?"

"They're alright," Alastor murmured. "They won't go telling everyone."

He said this with complete confidence, reminding Minerva once again that at some point Alastor had managed to befriend the Goldsteins. The idea of the perpetually calm brothers having much at all in common with Alastor was more than a bit odd, honestly. Minerva started to ask how this strange alliance had come about when a sob echoed from the doorway, heralding the arrival of a white-faced Rosie Priest.

Rosie sprinted the length of the aisle, at least until she reached the curtain. At that point, she faltered, face going paler still, and Minerva was afraid she might faint. Fortunately, Rosie reached her sister's bed, grip tight on the footboard. Also fortunately, she failed to realize that three Gryffindors were watching.

"Merlin, she found out quick," Alastor whispered.

"Either someone took tha liberty of passing tha story along, or tha professors have been told," Tiberius said, rising slowly from his seat and beginning to gather his books once again.

"The professors, I'd imagine," Minerva agreed. "Madame Hewitt's been in there quite some time."

She gestured toward the office, where the door had opened once again but no nurse stood visible. Madame Hewitt must have heard the noise as Rosie entered, so her arrival had to be imminent.

"Perhaps we ought to go," Alastor suggested. "Now-ish."

"Cannae say I really want ta talk ta Dippet either," Tiberius said.

Minerva rescued her bag from the rapidly shrinking pile, books and parchments disappearing into Tiberius and Alastor's bags at an alarming rate.

"Not exactly Dippet I'm worried about seeing," Alastor muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stepping out into the aisle.

He motioned for them to hurry up, casting glances back over his shoulder at Rosie, who had yet to move away from the footboard. Minerva and Tiberius exchanged confused look, entirely at a loss as to who Alastor might be avoiding. Then Minerva realized that Rosie seemed to be lacking her brunette shadow, a fact that seemed to dawn on Tiberius at the same time. Confusion became mild horror in a shockingly brief amount of time.

"Oh! Yes, we probably ought to-" Minerva halted mid-sentence.

She had intended to agree, emphatically, that yes, they should leave immediately. Unfortunately, the very person they had been intending to avoid had already arrived. Bell McKinnon stood in front of Alastor, glowering up at him and hands on her hips. Alastor remained unmoving in place, halfway blocking the aisle. His eyes widened, and Minerva thought he might have been holding his breath, but otherwise he betrayed no alarm. Not like Tiberius, who had gone a bit pale and shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"Er...evening, Bell," Alastor said weakly.

"Don't-" Bell had meant to punctuate the word with a slap to Alastor's check, hand raised and ready to strike. She seemed to think better of the idea though, hands clenching into fists at her side instead. "Don't."

"We donnae want any trouble," Tiberius spoke up now, finding his voice. Bell had not seemed to notice anyone but Alastor, though the revelation that not only Minerva but also Tiberius happened to be in tow did not appear to lighten the girl's mood.

"What are you doing here, then?" Bell demanded, glower shifting from Alastor to Minerva and back again.

Minerva met her gaze evenly, refusing to allow this silly Ravenclaw to intimidate her.

"We found Johanna in the hall," Minerva said tightly. "Thought perhaps we ought to bring her up here."

For once, Bell seemed to be at a loss for words, though her look was plainly disbelieving.

"Horrible thing," Alastor murmured, eyes on the floor.

"Yes, your sympathy is touching," snapped Bell.

"Oi, now that's not fair!" Tiberius cut in. "We really were helping."

"Would you have rather us left her in the hall?" Minerva asked.

This was all beginning to be a bit ridiculous, and Minerva had some trouble preventing herself from saying anything too uncalled for, and really it was just good Bell had not actually hit Alastor, because then Minerva would have had to hex her and then they really would be in a mess. Merlin, she knew Bell disliked the lot of them, and for good reason, but now hardly seemed the time for this sort of thing. Rosie, for her part, seemed to agree.

"I think I'd rather you go. Especially if you're just going to stand there and fight."

"Yes, why don't you go?" Bell suggested, stepping to the side to clear the path to the door.

Minerva made a point of taking Alastor's hand, meeting Bell's glare with her own.

"Sorry, about...your sister," Tiberius said, speaking the first civil words to Rosie Priest that Minerva had ever heard come out of his mouth.

The response, however, was less than polite, as Rosie seemed to be in no mood for taking sympathies from Tiberius or anyone else. Or at least, she might have been had he not for some reason decided to also put one hand on her shoulder. The result was a distraught Rosie becoming a rather angry Rosie, and one who began shouting at great volume. Minerva remained determined not to run, though the idea was sorely tempting, especially when Tiberius sprinted past, face white. She merely tightened her hold around Alastor's hand, not looking back as Rosie kept shouting and Bell kept glaring daggers. Madame Hewitt made no appearance or attempt to stop them, and the three Gryffindors escaped the Hospital Wing unscathed.

* * *

_Four attacks and we're not even through January. *dun dun dun* Updates shall continue as often as possible while working around my end-of-semester schedule, don't sweat. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a Psychology test to study for. Reviews, as always, are loved/appreciated/wonderful things that chase away Dementors and bring balance to the Force. No really, they do. _


	24. Patron Saints

A/N - Epic delay was epic. My sincerest apologies on that one - school's decided to be crazy here at the end of term. Hopefully posting shall go back to normal here shortly (and really posting speed should improve, being that I shall soon be done with classes in general). Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

By mid-February, the weather had turned bright and blustery, sunlight shining off the remaining snow even as frigid wind swept across the grounds, cutting like cold daggers through even the best of warming charms. Despite the chill, Hogwarts students and staff packed out the Quidditch stadium, bundled in caps and coats and cloaks, scarves dancing in the wind. There was a great deal of chanting, and someone kept trying to start up a song, and the sounds and voices all blurred together into one huge, incoherent hum of noise. The students whooped and cheered as the players passed by in blurs of yellow and crimson, the stadium a mass of painted faces and banners that matched the colors of the teams. Even after the third warming charm, the long, wooden benches that served as seats felt frozen, not that anyone had been doing a great deal of sitting anyway. Still, Minerva had not been to watch a Gryffindor Quidditch match since second year, and just now she felt horribly out of place.

The looks she had been receiving from the other Gryffindors did not especially help matters. All week she had dealt with halfway-frowns and closed expressions once word passed around that neither she nor Tiberius would be playing in the match against Hufflepuff. Professor Dippet's standing punishment for the trip to London had not yet been lifted, and Minerva only hoped that she would be allowed to set foot on the pitch before the end of term. Charlus had spent the last week and a half alternating between shouting at random team members and walking about looking faintly ill. He had managed to find replacements at least, seventh-year Michael Nelson for Chaser and fourth-year Charlotte Tanner for Seeker.

Minerva hated not playing, and wanted nothing more than to sneak away to the locker room and join the others on the pitch. Instead she found herself sandwiched between Augusta and Tiberius, who, despite his red and gold painted face, had yet to stop sulking. Not that Minerva blamed him - if Augusta had not started making vague threats, Minerva would still be sulking as well.

"Bones ducks a Bludger, he's one-on-one with Cromwell now," declared the voice of Cornelius Fudge, a third-year Hufflepuff.

Minerva's attention immediately snapped back to the match, raising up on her toes to watch as Raymond Bones rocketed toward the Gryffindor goalposts. Scrimgeour sent another Bludger his way, but Eric Wilkes caught the shot with his own bat and fired back toward Scrimgeour, who nearly fell off his broom trying to duck. By this time, Charlus and Alastor had nearly caught up with Bones, and Minerva had no doubt that Alastor intended to take the Quaffle by any means necessary. Unfortunately, the Quaffle left Bones' possession seconds before either of the Gryffindor Chasers could stop him. Thomas stopped the shot with a swift kick, which earned a round of cheers from the Gryffindor section until Malachi Smith caught the rebound and tossed the Quaffle easily through the far post. Then the Gryffindors fell rather silent, and the Hufflepuff fans burst into some song to which Minerva did not want to know the words.

"Oh, Merlin," muttered Tiberius, smearing the face paint as his head fell into his hands.

"We're still winning," Augusta pointed out.

"By what, twenty?" Minerva guessed, having lost track of the score some time ago. "This is just painful."

"I thought you liked watching Quidditch," Augusta said.

"I like watching, just not when I ought to be playing," Minerva grumbled.

Hufflepuff scored again, and Tiberius let loose on a tirade about Professor Dippet, the contents of which would have earned him a ban for the rest of the season. Gryffindor had the Quaffle now though, Michael Nelson dodging a Bludger as he flew down the middle of the pitch.

"Nelson off with the Quaffle, he's looking decent for his first match," Fudge observed. Nelson might have waved a rude gesture in Fudge's direction, but he was moving too fast to really be able to tell.

"I miss Prewett," Tiberius muttered.

Ignatius Prewett, Augusta's older brother, had been the Quidditch announcer as long as Minerva had been at school. He had graduated last year though, and the Gryffindors had been sad to see him go.

"I'm sure if I told him what abysmal announcing we've had this season, he'd be back," Augusta replied.

Minerva meant to reply, but Fudge's voice echoed out across the stadium again.

"Bones, and that's Amelia, mind, sends a Bludger at Nelson."

The tone indicated that Fudge fully expected to see Nelson tumbling from his broom within seconds. The Bludger did connect, but Nelson hung on, and he passed the Quaffle off to Charlus, who halfway caught the ball but mostly deflected it upward and toward the Gryffindor section of the stands.

"Odd move by Potter, and the Quaffle's free," said Fudge.

For once, Minerva had to agree, Charlus' move had been rather odd indeed. The Quaffle continued to climb upward, all eyes in the stadium watching, waiting. Minerva resisted an urge to reach out for the ball herself, fists clenched so tight that her nails began to dig into her palms. Charlus must have made a mistake, because the only two anywhere near the Quaffle were unfortunately Bones and Smith.

"Look's like it's just a race between Hufflepuff Chasers," Fudge declared.

Nelson managed a tight turn, racing to reach the Quaffle first, but he had no chance. The stadium had reached a dizzying level of noise as the Hufflepuffs and several large sections of the other houses cheered on Bones and Smith. Fudge sounded nearly overjoyed.

"Potter's pass seems to have intended for Bones, he's in the lead, no Bludgers anywhere close..."

But a blur of crimson flashed in front of the stands, darting between the two Hufflepuffs, and Alastor Moody seized the Quaffle with one hand. The Gryffindor section burst into cheers, Minerva and Tiberius on their feet and cheering loudest of all. Alastor ducked, laying as flat as possible against his broom as Bones and Smith collided in the space where the Quaffle had been moments ago. The Hufflepuffs managed to hang onto their brooms, by some miracle, and Alastor escaped entirely, looking fiercely determined, if one ignored the grin edging at the corners of his mouth.

"Ah...and...and Moody comes out of nowhere..." managed Fudge, at a loss for words. "He's clear to the posts now..."

Another Bludger flew Alastor's way, courtesy of Amelia Bones, but Lockhart managed to redirect the shot in time. Dawson, the Hufflepuff Keeper, decided to charge at Alastor instead of waiting, which turned out to be a bad idea. Alastor rolled easily out of Dawson's way, tossing the Quaffle through the center post and pumping his fist into the air.

"Good try by Dawson, but Moody scores, making it 170-150, Gryffindor," Fudge said lamely.

"Nice work by your boyfriend," Augusta said, nearly having to shout to be heard over the noise of the Gryffindors around them.

"He's not-" Minerva paused, realizing that the response she had been giving for years was no longer quite true. "Well, I suppose he is, actually."

Charlus flew in, Alastor close behind, passing over the stands as near to their housemates as they could manage, motioning for the already-painful volume to be even louder. Alastor scanned the crowd, and when his eyes met Minerva's he allowed for a grin and a wink for good measure.

"Think he likes having you in the stands cheering," Augusta said. "Maybe you ought to make a habit of it."

"Not likely," Minerva replied. "He can enjoy this one, but the next game I can, I'm playing."

"If you'd answered any other way, I'd have been concerned," Augusta said matter of factly.

Alastor and Charlus turned back toward the center of the pitch, racing to overtake a nervous-looking James Fawcett, who seemed to realize the danger of his present hold on the Quaffle. Smith and Bones had recovered by this point, and while Bones looked nothing more than embarrassed, Malachi Smith appeared to be just shy of furious. No one realized just how furious, however, until Smith caught up with the Gryffindor Chasers and landed a kick in the middle of Alastor's back. Alastor slumped forward and slipped to one side, and for one heart-stopping moment Minerva thought he might fall. He held on though, thanks in part to Charlus' grab at one sleeve. Tiberius was on his feet again, leaning out toward the pitch and shouting some rather rude words at Smith, not that Minerva had any intention of stopping him. She and Augusta both had joined in the furious roar of words as well, they and the rest of the Gryffindors. Minerva knew Alastor had safely recovered when he steadied himself on his broom and then proceeded to punch Smith in the stomach. Professor Deverill blew his whistle over and over, flying across the pitch to stop the fight, but no one seemed to be listening. Charlus and Bones tried to pull their teammates away, but the Beaters had joined in by this point and everything seemed to be rapidly growing out of hand. Then Fudge's voice boomed out over the stadium, all but silencing the crowd and ending the fight singlehandedly.

"Tanner has spotted the Snitch!"

Attention shifted to a blur on the far side of the pitch where Charlotte Tanner had dropped into a long dive, chasing after a speck that glittered gold in the sunlight. The players watched, mesmerized as the crowd, Smith's robes clenched tight in Alastor's fist and Deverill looking exceedingly thankful for the distraction.

"Come on," Minerva murmured, willing Charlotte to fly just a little faster. "Come on."

Hornby, the Hufflepuff Seeker, had not been that far away from Charlotte, and looked to be gaining quickly. Lockhart had not yet joined the group tussling at the center of the pitch, and so he was able to fire a Bludger Hornby's way. Hornby had always been a good flyer, much as Minerva hated to admit it, and he easily dodged the Bludger. Still diving downward, fingers closing the gap toward the Snitch, Charlotte made the fatal mistake of looking back. Hornby had already been just behind her, and in the fraction of a moment he not only passed the Gryffindor Seeker, but also made a swooping catch with his left hand, raising the Snitch as he pulled out of the dive.

"Hornby has the Snitch!" Fudge shouted. "Hufflepuff wins, 300-170!"

The stadium exploded in cheers, except for the Gryffindor section, which had fallen largely silent. Minerva sank into her seat, head in her hands.

"Oh, Merlin."

"She almost had that," Augusta muttered, striking her hand against the bench. "She should have had that."

"Her first match," Tiberius said weakly. "Tisn't fair ta be too hard on her."

Augusta did not look as though she quite agreed with that statement, but she did not argue. Back on the pitch, the players had descended to earth once more, nothing more than a mass of yellow and black and crimson. Deverill looked to be trying to keep the teams as separate as possible, and succeeding to some degree. This was admittedly aided by the fact that the Hufflepuffs were too busy celebrating to keep fighting, and the Gryffindors were all but eager to leave the field. Alastor stormed away toward the locker rooms behind Charlus, fists clenched at his sides. Minerva guessed his face matched his robes as well.

"He's going to be in a terrible mood," Minerva said.

"Aye, I'd say that's a given," Tiberius agreed. "I'm near ta a foul mood, and I dinnae even play."

"Let's not talk about that part." Minerva winced, shaking her head. "The not playing part, I mean."

"Fine with me."

"Suppose we ought to get back to the castle then?" Augusta asked with a sigh. Her scarf danced in the wind behind her, framing the crowd of students now streaming toward the exits.

"You go on," Minerva replied. "I'm going to wait."

"I feel as though I should have expected that," Augusta said. She smirked a bit, then turned her attention to Tiberius, who had been blankly staring out at the pitch. "What about you then, Kirk?"

"Same," Tiberius said, blinking and shaking his head as though waking from a dream. "Staying too."

"Then I'll see you later then," Augusta replied. "Next time, I expect to be cheering for the two of you. Highly odd not to be, after all these years."

"Believe me, we know," Minerva muttered.

Augusta nodded and waved, then shuffled her way into the crowd of students, eventually disappearing from sight. Minerva took off her glasses and pressed her hands against her face, hoping perhaps she might wake up any moment and realize today had been a bad dream. The stadium had nearly emptied out, a ring of empty wood and banners fluttering in the breeze.

"Think he'll let us play tha next match?" Tiberius asked quietly. He had turned to look out over the pitch, only the gold-painted side of his face showing.

"Whether or not he wants us to, I certainly intend to," Minerva answered.

Tiberius almost-smiled at that, and Minerva settled her glasses back into place before reaching out and tugging on his sleeve.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go wait for Alastor."

* * *

Outside the pitch, the celebrations continued all the way back up the patch to the castle. Geoffery tried his best to be diplomatic about the whole thing, but the other sixth-year Hufflepuffs dragged him away fairly quickly, the lot of them chanting all the while. Really the worst bunch was the Slytherins, who had not quite recovered from their loss to Gryffindor in November and were thus thrilled to see Hufflepuff win in turn. Nott and Rosier kept sneering and shouting, while Dolores Umbridge took the opportunity to attempt to strike up a conversation with the still-melancholy Tiberius. He had been doing his best to ignore her, but Dolores was nothing if not persistent, and she followed them all the way over to the entrance to the locker rooms.

"I mean it's really a shame, true," Dolores was saying. "Not that I'd cheer for anyone but Slytherin, of course."

"Of course," Minerva agreed, arching an eyebrow in the other girl's direction.

"Excuse me, Minerva, but I think we were having a private conversation," Dolores said.

Minerva fought not to wince visibly at each high, simpering syllable that came out of Dolores' mouth, and instead crossed her arms and levelled a glare overtop her glasses.

"I seem to have missed that notice. Being that you followed us."

"I did, but I was talking with Tiberius."

"_To _Tiberius," Minerva corrected. "_With_ would suggest he has responded. Which he has not."

True enough, because Tiberius had done nothing more than nod his head every few words, and certainly had not spoken. Dolores seemed to realize that she would not win this round, and as soon as players began leaving the locker rooms, she fell in line with the unfortunate Hufflepuffs and talked her way back to the path.

Lockhart and Scrimgeour emerged side by side, wearing almost-identical scowls. Neither of them paid Minerva or Tiberius much mind, save for unpleasant glares. Nelson came next, holding the door for Thomas Cromwell, who looked to be in some sort of pain.

"Nice work, Nelson," Minerva said, knowing that she ought to compliment her replacement but hating that she had a replacement at all.

"Thanks," Nelson replied.

"He alright?" Tiberius gestured toward Thomas. Both Nelson and Thomas simply shrugged and shook their heads.

"I'm fine," Thomas said, leaving no room for argument as he and Nelson walked away.

"I think they're upset with us," Tiberius said.

"I'd begun to notice," Minerva agreed.

A girl exited next, eyes red-rimmed as though she had been trying very hard not to cry. She looked near to tears though, at least until she saw Tiberius and Minerva waiting. At that point, all trace of sadness vanished, replaced by a cold sneer.

"Come to gloat, have you, Kirk?" Charlotte asked. "About how you'd have won the match easy?"

"Dinnae intend ta do anything of tha like," Tiberius said, shaking his head. "Twas your first match, and you did well."

"Really?" Charlotte looked slightly stunned, thrown badly off-balance when Tiberius refused to rise to her challenge. "Well. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Tiberius replied.

Charlotte cast another bemused glance up at kick as she departed, shooting looks back over her shoulder every few seconds as though expecting Tiberius to change his mind and shout at her. He stayed quiet though, even when Charlus emerged, saying nothing and simply nodding stiffly as he made his way up the hill. That left only one person still in the locker room, and Minerva began to wonder if perhaps Alastor intended to hide out all night.

"Do you think we ought to...?" Minerva gestured toward the door rather than finish the question. Tiberius caught her meaning anyway, though he simply shrugged.

"Give him a moment or two."

A moment or two turned into nearly twenty minutes, and finally Minerva could wait no more.

"I'll be back."

If Tiberius replied, she did not hear him. Minerva slipped into the locker room, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible. The lights had dimmed a bit, casting shadows in odd places, the remains of uniforms and Quidditch gear tossed haphazardly across the floor. One of the benches had been tipped over, and Minerva suspected she could make a fair guess as to who might be responsible. The brightest light came from the boy's changing rooms, a solid, bright square of yellow against the shadows, steam curling around the edges. Minerva crept forward, quietly as possible, hearing no sound other than her own breathing. The showers sounded as though they were off, and no footsteps echoed off the tiles. Reaching the last set of lockers, Minerva leaned around, looking into the bright doorway and waiting a moment or two before she spoke.

"Alastor?"

The first try was muffled, halfway caught in her throat, and Minerva tried again.

"Alastor."

"What?" came the grumbled reply.

Minerva had been considering moving all the way around the corner, but at his tone she decided she would rather stay put. Her glasses had begun to fog over, so she set about cleaning them.

"Were you intending to try and drain the lake?"

"No," Alastor replied. Minerva could almost imagine his frown.

"We were waiting for you. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Yes, I certainly believe that," Minerva muttered, more to herself than Alastor. Raising her voice, she tried again. "It was a good match."

A snort preluded his answer this time, a snort and a bitter-sounding laugh.

"Don't think we were watching the same match."

"Well, it was," Minerva insisted.

"We. Lost." Alastor emphasized each word, further punctuating by throwing what sounded like a towel against the floor.

"Still in the running for the cup though," Minerva pointed out, leaning back against the locker.

"Suddenly I feel entirely better. Thank you."

"We'll win the next one," Minerva muttered. Alastor could be difficult at the best of times, and he never took losing especially well. Then again, neither did Minerva.

"Hope so," Alastor replied, sounding less than hopeful.

He had probably just decided not to allow himself to be cheered up, the prat. Minerva sighed irritatedly, hoping perhaps a change of topics would marginally brighten the conversation, or at least bait him out into the open.

"And you can't sulk about all weekend. There's a Hogsmeade trip tomorrow."

"I am allowed to sulk. And you'll forgive me if I don't feel much like going," Alastor said gruffly.

"Even on special occasions?" Minerva pressed. Surely he had not actually forgotten.

"Wasn't aware that it was," Alastor replied.

He had forgotten. Spectacular.

"It's Valentine's Day, actually," Minerva said dryly, frowning in the general direction of the doorway.

"Oh. Well."

Minerva rounded the corner then, intending at least to maybe glower in his general direction and point her finger at him. Instead, she very nearly collided with Alastor himself, who had crossed through the narrow hallway unheard. His eyes widened, and hers must have too, but neither of them backed away at first, far too surprised to be doing moving of any sort. Alastor stood backlight by the lights in the far room, hair still damp and darker than usual thanks to the water. He had his trousers on, and a sleeveless undershirt, a towel in one hand and his shirt in the other. What caught Minerva's attention though was a glimmer of silver against the light, a medallion hanging on a chain around Alastor's neck.

"Where'd you get this?" she asked, reaching out to slip one finger beneath the chain. He seemed to be holding his breath as she leaned in for a closer look. The silver of the medallion had been etched with the intricate image of what looked to be an angel bearing a sword. She traced her thumb over the picture, glancing up at Alastor and waiting for and answer. He smiled sheepishly as he looked first at the medallion, then at her.

"My grandparents gave it to me, for my birthday. I told them I wanted to be an Auror, which I had to explain as being like a Muggle policeman. So they gave me Saint Michael here," Alastor explained, tapping one finger against the image.

"Patron of...warriors, soldiers, that sort of thing," Minerva concluded, familiar enough with saints to at least know something about Saint Michael.

"And policemen, actually," Alastor said. "Think chivalry might be in there too..."

He sounded as though he meant to go on, but he stopped abruptly when Minerva gave the medallion a final squeeze and something rather odd happened - a queer, sudden warmth in the place where her own locket rested against her skin.

"Alastor," she said slowly, eyes narrowing. "Please tell me you didn't."

"Didn't what?" Alastor asked, keeping his face impressively neutral.

Minerva retrieved her locket, holding it in one hand as this time she reached out again for his medallion. Alastor backed away, reaching the wall and running out of room rather quickly. He tried half-heartedly to fight her hand away, but when she fixed him with a pointed look he gave up. This time, when Minerva squeezed the medallion, the locket went quite warm. Squeezing the locket had the opposite result.

"Why in Merlin's name...I should have known," Minerva said. "I should have known you'd do something like that."

"Wasn't a bad thing..." Alastor murmured.

"Of course not. Perfectly alright. Charm things and not tell me," Minerva snapped, stepping away now even as Alastor reached out to catch hold of her.

For a moment, he was surprised, perhaps embarrassed, but the longer Minerva glowered at him the more his face shifted into a scowl of his own, rapidly turning a shade near Gryffindor crimson.

"Now hang on," Alastor growled. "I was trying to look out for you."

"How many times have I got to tell you, I don't need looking out for?" Minerva demanded.

"I'm not going to apologize!" Alastor insisted.

"Then take the charm off," Minerva replied.

She unclasped the locket and held it out to him in one clenched fist. Alastor stuffed his hands into his pockets and refused to move.

"No."

"Why didn't you just tell me you'd done it?" Minerva asked exasperatedly.

Alastor rolled his eyes, leaning away as she waved the locket at him again.

"I imagine because you'd have taken it just as well as you are right now."

"Just take the charm off," Minerva muttered, "I don't need you looking out for me."

"It's not looking out for you," Alastor argued. "More like...if you need me, I know."

"Yes and that's shockingly useless when I don't know it can actually do that!"

"Didn't really...account for that..." Alastor admitted, shoulders slumping a bit.

"Undo the charm," Minerva said for the third time. "Or take it back. I won't have you feeling like you need to be watching me all the time."

Alastor flinched, as though she had struck him. Then his scowl returned and he squared his shoulders, doing his best to be intimidating. On anyone else, the trick would have worked, but Minerva had never been the least bit scared of Alastor. Just now she was more angry than anything else anyway. He had no right, no right, to be slipping her gifts just because he felt like she needed watching. She should have known.

They glared at each other, the room falling silent in the wake of all the shouting, tension heavy and snapping in the air. Minerva's hand was still outstretched, fist squeezing the locket. Some part of her registered that this might be causing Alastor's medallion to be growing uncomfortably warm, but she could not properly bring herself to care.

"You're a smart witch, and it's only a Protean Charm," Alastor said slowly, voice dangerously low. "You take it off yourself."

"You-!" Minerva scowled, fuming, and stepped closer, one finger pointed at his face. She had full intentions of having another shouting match, perhaps tossing the locket at him. That scene, she decided, might look a bit foolish, and besides he was right, she could probably remove the Charm herself.

Instead she turned on her heels, stuffing the locket into the pocket of her coat and storming across the room. Alastor watched her go, not making so much as a sound from his place against the wall. Minerva did not spare him a single glance back, shoving open the door roughly and striding out into the breeze. Something of her fury must have shown in her face, because Tiberius woke from whatever daydream he'd lapsed into and started toward her, frowning worriedly. Minerva fixed him with a silencing look before any words could leave his mouth, and she merely walked past him back toward the castle, wind tugging at her jacket and scarf trailing in the breeze.

* * *

The portraits watched the prefects passing, wincing at the wand light that wavered across their frames. Usually Tiberius apologized for waking sleeping figures, but tonight he was in no mood to be more polite than necessary. His weekend had been dismal at best, starting with the Gryffindor loss to Hufflepuff and continuing thanks to Minerva and Alastor, who had seen fit to have one of their rows. Tiberius had hoped that once the pair of them sorted out their feelings, all the fights would stop. Then again, they had been engaging in arguments ever since first year - a result, no doubt, of pairing two shockingly stubborn people together as friends. Alastor might have been hot-tempered, but Minerva was just as capable of producing a cold fury that Tiberius would never on his best days dare challenge. He supposed it was a wonder they hadn't managed to kill each other. Yet.

Topping off his weekend of foul luck, he had been paired for patrols with Amelia bloody Bones. Tiberius liked Amelia just fine, and had never minded patrols with her before. In fact, patrols had been cut down for prefects, given all the recent attacks, and really Tiberius would have ordinarily been quite happy to have his turn over and done for the week. Let the professors roam about at night looking for some loony who thought it great fun to be petrifying students, Tiberius would much rather sleep. Honestly, he would much rather be doing just about anything than wandering the castle with one of the Hufflepuff Beaters.

Thankfully, Amelia had not dared try and speak of the match, which Tiberius appreciated. Instead they chatted about classes, abused the Slytherin Quidditch team, and attempted to predict how many couples they might catch in broom closets. So far, Amelia was winning with four, but Tiberius hoped his guess of six would pay off. He had three Sickles riding on the bet anyway.

"Did you hear that?" Amelia asked, pointing her wand at what looked to be a blank span of wall.

"No," Tiberius replied. Even after holding his breath for a moment, he heard nothing at all. "Let's keep going."

"I heard something interesting," Amelia whispered after a few more steps.

"Did you know?"

"From a very reliable source," Amelia confirmed.

Tiberius did like to keep up to date on the latest goings on at Hogwarts, and now seemed like a good enough time to catch up on anything he might have missed.

"Let's have it then."

"I'm told that Alastor and Minerva have had a falling out."

"Oh," was all Tiberius said, managing not to sigh. He already knew about that one. Rubbish. "They're always fighting. Every few weeks. Probably couldnae stand it if they dinnae."

"Fair enough," Amelia allowed.

She still sounded uncertain, and actually looked a bit uncertain too, though that may have been a trick of the light. Still, Tiberius thought he ought to give her some reassurance.

"They'll be fine. Back to sno-" he halted abruptly, covering with a cough and hoping Amelia did not realize where he had been going with that statement. "Back to normal in no time."

"You'd be the one to know," Amelia replied.

This made Tiberius feel like quite the authority indeed, and he stood up a bit straighter, raising his wand. A hand on his sleeve, however, nearly caused him to jump out of his skin. He whirled around, swearing under his breath as his heart felt like it had taken up residence in his throat. Amelia turned too, and a small blond boy stood blinking in the brightness of their wands.

"Who are you?" Tiberius demanded.

"C-Christopher Galvin," the boy managed. He could have been no more than a second year, and if Tiberius was not mistaken, Christopher Galvin looked to be trembling.

"What're you doing out then?" Amelia asked wearily. "And what house will you be losing points for?"

"You have to help!" Christopher replied desperately, ignoring Amelia's question entirely. "Please!"

"What's wrong then?" Tiberius asked, bending down so he did not tower quite so much above the younger boy.

Christopher gestured toward a side corridor, apparently the place he had come from. He was still shaking, arm trembling as he pointed, and he had already begun to walk away. Tiberius could not help but be concerned, but the boy's next words sent a staggering chill through him that made his blood run cold.

"It's Albert! Phillip and Albert! Please, you have to help!"

* * *

_A/N - OH SNAP. Comments, general opinions, concerns, or witty one-liners? There's reviews for that. Click that delightful button and share the awesome. =D_


	25. Actions and Overreactions

A/N - Alright, so, good news! I'm done with 1) Finals and 2) Spring semester of college (both of these things being largely to blame for the lack of update). So with both of those safely out of the way, we now return to our regularly scheduled story. In fact, updates ought to be a bit quicker, as it's now summer and free-time has decided to return. Now, picking up right where we left off last chapter...

* * *

Tiberius stayed frozen in place, watching as Christopher Galvin stumbled further away, gesturing wildly with one hand in the direction in which the trouble waited. Amelia had begun to follow the younger boy, and she might have been talking. No, she almost had to have been talking, because he mouth was moving, and she was frowning, first at Christopher, then at Tiberius. For his part, all Tiberius could hear was the sudden pounding in his ears and Christopher's words repeated over and over again on loop.

_"It's Albert! Phillip and Albert! Please, you have to help!"_

Surely there were several Alberts at Hogwarts. More than several, even. Probably a popular name, and Philip, that seemed like a fairly popular name as well. Just because the only Albert coming to mind happened to be Alastor's younger brother did not at all mean that the Albert in question would be the same. Certainly not. But Albert did have a friend named Philip, if Tiberius recalled, and...

"Tiberius!" Amelia's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and Tiberius straightened abruptly, turning in the direction of the sound.

"Aye, sorry. What?"

"Are you coming or not?" Amelia asked.

She had taken hold of the neck of Christopher's robes now to keep the younger boy from outright dashing away. Tiberius found himself suddenly wishing that Christopher Galvin had never made an appearance at all, and that patrol had been nice and quiet and uneventful. Perhaps if he closed his eyes and pretended nothing had happened, the cold knot in his stomach would vanish, as would Galvin, and he would simply wake up in his bed in Gryffindor Tower.

He knew, though, that he was a prefect, and that he needed to bloody well grow up and stop being so ridiculous. For all he knew, he was overreacting anyway. Probably nothing more than a prank gone awry. He was just complicating the whole thing. Assumptions without evidence and all that rubbish. Swallowing hard, Tiberius set his face into the most serious look he could manage (a pale imitation of Minerva's prefect glare, but Tiberius liked to think his was decent enough) and gave a curt nod.

"Right behind you. Let's see what trouble they've managed ta cause."

Christopher was still mumbling something, but too quietly for Tiberius to hear. Amelia seemed to be trying not to listen, if anything. Still, once convinced that he had successfully found help, Christopher began moving again, his pace just shy of a jog, and Amelia had loosened her hold on the boy's robe to keep from inadvertently strangling him. Tiberius kept up easily even at a walking pace, his wand glowing at his side and casting odd shadows around his feet.

Several portraits scowled and sniped at them, and one old wizard wearing a fez roundly told them all off for being out past curfew. Tiberius gestured to his prefect badge, which did nothing to stop the portraits tirade, much to his dismay. The corridor stretched on endlessly, rows and rows of grumpy portraits and locked classrooms. Every footstep felt heavier, and Tiberius could not shake the feeling that he was walking toward something awful. He wondered vaguely if this was how people felt when they were being walked to the noose.

Light spilled out across the hall just ahead, one door open, and Tiberius' heartbeat quickened again as he realized that whatever had happened probably waited inside. A memory flashed before his eyes, Gabriel, frozen on the floor of the corridor, and Tiberius shook his head to clear the vision.

Christopher broke away from Amelia's grip, an impressive feat, Tiberius had to admit, and the boy went sprinting for the doorway. For a moment, he was lit in silvery moonlight, and then he vanished into the classroom beyond.

"You don't think...?" Amelia began to ask, but let the question drop, casting an uneasy glance toward the doorway.

Tiberius knew precisely what she had meant though, and for the second time he considered pretending nothing at all had happened and walking away. He had a horrible feeling that he knew exactly what had happened inside the classroom, and Amelia probably did as well. He was a prefect though, and this was his job, and Merlin but he had to at least try to help.

"Hope not," Tiberius breathed.

The pair of them stood outside the door for what felt like an hour but in reality was only a few seconds. Raising his wand, Tiberius took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold, squinting in the sudden brightness after so long in the dark corridors. Amelia entered just behind him, leaning past for a better look. She gasped, not that Tiberius blamed her.

Apparently, Christopher and his friends had been attempting some sort of prank on the classroom. Half the surfaces in the room had taken on a slick, shining appearance that reflected everything back in odd, distorted shapes. Christopher himself had now knelt down in front of the first row of desks, an even smaller version of himself watching from the charmed surface. Two figures lay prone on the ground, unmoving, and Tiberius swallowed hard again as he forced himself out of the doorway and into the room. The nearest boy was dark-haired and round-faced, and he must have been Philip. Process of elimination, really, because the other person was unmistakeable. His auburn hair had been cut short, his build far slighter than his brother's, but the boy was a Moody nonetheless.

"Oh, bugger, Albert, what've you gone and done?" Tiberius murmured.

Tiberius swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair and casting a look back at Amelia, who had yet to move. Breathing out through his nose, Tiberius kneeled down beside the boys, determined not to panic or react too much at all. He needed to be calm and confident and reassuring just now. He could lament his abysmal luck later.

"What happened?" Tiberius asked quietly.

"We...we were just trying to charm the classroom," Christopher murmured, eyes on the floor.

"I noticed that. What happened ta them?"

"I don't know!"

"How do ye not know?" Tiberius demanded, trying and failing to keep his irritation entirely absent from his words.

"I wasn't with them," Christopher said. "Philip was the look-out, and Albert had gone to check on him, because he hadn't said anything in awhile."

"Usually it's a good thing for look-outs to be quiet," Amelia observed.

"Philip never shuts up though. Albert was w-worried."

Christopher spluttered a bit, and began to sound near to tears again. Tiberius had no idea what to do with a crying second-year and waved Amelia over hurriedly, just in case. She knelt down beside Christopher, going a bit pale as she glanced once more at Albert and Philip.

"So, they're both..."

Tiberius had been about to agree to the unspoken question, until he realized one small difference between the two boys. Philip lay with one arm raised, as though shielding himself, a pose horribly reminiscent of how Gabriel had been found all those months ago. Not to mention, Philip's eyes were wide and frightened. Albert, meanwhile, had his eyes closed, and could have been sleeping.

"Tiberius?" Amelia spoke up again when he did not answer. "What is it?"

Tiberius reached out with two fingers, pressing against the pulse point on Philip's neck. The skin was cold to the touch, as though frozen solid. Definitely petrified then. Leaning forward on one hand, Tiberius then checked for Albert's pulse. This time, he could feel a steady heartbeat beneath warm, living skin. Albert hadn't been petrified after all.

Sitting back on his heels, Tiberius gave a sigh of relief, feeling very much as though an enormous weight had been lifted. He had been utterly dreading bringing the news to Alastor, and suddenly the cold knot in his stomach loosened as he realized he would not have to do so.

"He's not...he's fine. Just unconscious."

"Well then do you plan to wake him up any time soon?" Amelia asked.

"Oh. Aye."

Tiberius drew his wand, tapping it against Albert's chest.

"_Rennervate."_

Albert woke with a gasp, eyes going wide as he sat bolt upright. He glanced around for a moment, confused at first, and before Tiberius could say anything Albert spotted Philip lying on the floor beside him. Another gasp, and then Albert was pushing away, stopping only when his back collided with another desk.

"It's alright, Bert, nothing ta worry about," Tiberius murmured.

"Why are you here?" Albert asked.

Of all questions, Tiberius certainly had not been expecting that one. Perhaps "What happened?" or "Is Philip alright?" would have been more appropriate, given the circumstances.

"Because your friend here came to get help," Amelia answered. "You're welcome."

Albert considered this, pursing his lips and keeping his eyes pointedly on anything except for Philip.

"Are we in trouble?"

"You do seem ta have broken into a classroom," Tiberius pointed out. "And look ta have been in tha process of charming said classroom."

"But...it was just supposed to be...a harmless prank," Albert explained weakly. He cast a glance at Christopher for support, but his friend had gone entirely silent.

"Can you tell us what happened then?" Amelia asked.

"To Philip, you mean?" Albert guessed. Both Tiberius and Amelia nodded, and Albert pulled his knees up to his chest, drawing a deep breath before he continued. "Found him in the hall like that. And then...then I don't remember anything else."

Tiberius caught the shift in Albert's gaze, the hesitation, and could not say he entirely believed that statement.

"So you dinnae see who it was?"

"No," Albert answered, a little sharply. "I didn't see anything."

"Must have hexed him from behind then," Amelia murmured, talking more to herself than anyone else. "Right."

She stood to her feet, dusting off her robes with one hand and twirling her wand in the other. The mirrored charms around the room began to slip and fade away, running like water onto the floor, where they vanished entirely. Tiberius felt as though she was just showing off.

"Best get you lot ta tha Hospital Wing then," Tiberius said.

Christopher pulled himself up with help from the nearest desk as Tiberius conjured a stretcher and levitated Philip onto it. Albert remained seated though, ignoring even the hand Tiberius offered.

"We're going to be in trouble, aren't we?" Albert asked again.

"Aye." Tiberius sighed. "You probably are."

"But you don't...you don't have to tell my brother, do you?"

Tiberius frowned down at Albert, then exchanged a brief look with Amelia. Technically, all they really had to do was perhaps alert a professor, probably Dumbledore, since all the boys involved were Gryffindors. No rules said that elder siblings had to be informed. But now that Albert wasn't actually petrified, Tiberius saw no reason not to tell Alastor. Amelia, for her part, merely shrugged and glanced away, providing no help at all.

"Think he'll be happy ta know you're alright," Tiberius said after a moment.

Albert began to rise then, shaking his head.

"He'll be upset with me."

"That'd be reasonable, I'd say."

"I'm fine!" Albert insisted through gritted teeth. "And I don't want to upset him."

Tiberius had a feeling that Albert really just wanted to avoid the almost-guaranteed lecture Alastor would be bound to give him at great volume. The brothers had been at odds since well before Christmas, that much was certain. Tiberius had never asked why, and Alastor had never offered to discuss the matter. Albert glowered up at him, and for a moment, the resemblance to his brother was more pronounced than usual.

"Alright." Tiberius was not sure why precisely he agreed. His better judgment seemed to be protesting strongly, but he roundly ignored it. "You're still going ta tha Hospital Wing."

"Fine," Albert said. "That's fine."

Tiberius levitated Philip toward the door, and Albert and Christopher fell in step behind the stretcher, talking quietly to each other in whispered tones.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Amelia asked quietly. "Not telling Alastor, I mean."

In truth, Tiberius wasn't sure it was a good idea, not entirely. But he could think of a few good reasons at least.

"He's been in a foul mood. Tellin' him his brother nearly got himself petrified wonnae exactly improve that, will it?"

"I suppose not," Amelia allowed. "He's going to find out though."

"Aye." Tiberius hoped that perhaps Alastor would not actually find out until summer, when the issue was long-since resolved. "But Albert's fine, so he'll...he'll be fine as well."

* * *

Somewhere in his line of reasoning, a grave miscalculation had been made. Someone had been talking, that much was certain. Not Christopher Galvin, who had been all but silent every time Tiberius had seen him, and not Albert, who had wanted to avoid any trouble anyway. Still, when Albert stormed up the stairs after lunch, face red and fixed in a scowl, Tiberius should have known what was coming. Somehow though he managed to convince himself that everything was alright, which was impressive, really, because the tension inside the castle had been growing for weeks. News of another attack had spread quickly, and Tiberius could feel a storm growing that had nothing to do with the grey clouds that welcomed March.

He had gone about his business, and pretended not to be too involved with anything to do with Philip or Albert. There had also been the delicate balancing act of dealing with Minerva and Alastor, because the pair of them really had yet to properly make up. There had been several attempts that kept ending in shouting and, on one memorable occasion, throwing of objects.

Studying seemed like a logical way to distract himself, and Tiberius had just settled himself against one of the beech trees beside the lake, his Charms book open in his lap. Groups of students sat scattered on the grounds nearby, talking and study and generally being more than a bit distracting. Tiberius had begun to tune out all the noise, and thus he did not hear the approaching footsteps until a shadow fell across his book. He glanced up, only to come face to face with someone's fist.

The punch hit him squarely in the nose, but by some utter miracle did not break it. Still, the force of the blow, sent Tiberius falling sideways.

"What tha bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, squinting through watery eyes in effort to make out his attacker.

His vision cleared enough for him to realize that the fist belonged to a very angry-looking Alastor, and Tiberius swore and ducked away just in time to avoid being struck again.

"I could ask you the same thing!" Alastor snapped. "You weren't going to tell me!"

Tiberius tossed away his book and managed to push himself to his feet. No sense staying at a disadvantage and trying to fight while sitting down, after all. Perhaps thanks to the earlier blow to the head, he did not immediately understand what Alastor was talking about.

"Tell you what?"

"What do you think?" Alastor demanded. "About my brother, maybe?"

Oh, Merlin. He should have seen this coming then. Tiberius raised his hands, sincerely hoping he could calm Alastor down, and quickly. But Alastor's face had gone an impressive shade of red, and he did not look as though he planned to be especially forgiving any time in the immediate future. Tiberius pretended not to notice that several students had begun to watch with interest.

"He was fine!" Tiberius insisted.

Alastor swore and swung at him again, but Tiberius deflected the strike and caught him by the front of his shirt.

"Would you listen ta me for one minute?"

"You know, I don't think I really want to," Alastor growled, pushing at Tiberius and attempting to pull away.

"He asked me not to tell you!" Tiberius tried. This seemed to be the wrong thing to say, because Alastor switched from pushing to seizing hold of Tiberius' shirt in turn.

"Oh, well that's grand. Who's friend are you, exactly?"

The pair of them struggled and shoved at each other for a moment, neither one giving ground.

"I was just trying to help," Tiberius muttered. "He didn't want to upset you, neither did I."

"Who said I'd have been upset?"

"Well, you're not exactly being calm about it just now, are you?" Tiberius countered.

Alastor swung an elbow into Tiberius' ribs, and breath left him in a whoosh. In an instant, Tiberius found himself colliding with the ground as Alastor pinned him.

"How'd you feel then, something happened to your sisters and I didn't tell you? Kept it a ruddy secret?" Alastor demanded, shaking Tiberius a bit.

"You're being ridiculous," Tiberius said, throwing his weight to one side and by some miracle managing to gain the advantage.

"What, you want me to apologize for being worried about my brother?" Alastor snarled.

"Or maybe just apologize for ruddy punching me in tha face!"

"Soon as you apologize for keeping secrets for the git!"

Tiberius had no intention of apologizing for his actions, and said as much, including a few choice words in his response. Alastor responded with a fairly similar vocabulary, and then words were abandoned in favor of a rolling brawl across the more than slightly painful ground. Tiberius took another hit to the side of the head that left his ears ringing, but he managed to knock Alastor in the jaw hard enough to daze him for a moment, so he thought that exchange had been fair enough. Swearing and struggling, Alastor somehow managed to draw his wand from his pocket, seizing hold of Tiberius' shirt and jerking him upright. Tiberius had his own wand at the ready in a single, fluid motion, and for a moment, the pair of them locked eyes, breathing heavily. One word, one hint of a spell, and Tiberius would hex him. Alastor was being ridiculous, and this was self-defense, and perhaps he and his temper needed to be taught a lesson anyway. Never mind that some part of Tiberius kept pointing out that he had probably shouldn't have agreed to keep quiet in the first place.

"Would you stop it!"

The voice drew the attention of both boys, though their wands remained levelled and Alastor maintained his hold on Tiberius' shirt. Minerva stood over them both, arms crossed and somewhere between exasperated and furious. A crowd had gathered behind her, all studying abandoned in favor of what Tiberius guessed had been a far more entertaining fight.

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" Minerva hissed.

"He knew!" Alastor shouted. "He knew what happened to Albert, and he wasn't going to tell me."

"That's because nothing happened ta him!" Tiberius shouted back, just as loud.

"It could have!"

"But it dinnae!"

The struggling resumed again for a moment, as Tiberius swung an elbow and Alastor ducked and tried for another tackle. There was a loud bang though, and Tiberius found himself thrown backward, landing sprawled on his back and staring up at the cloudy sky. For a moment, he thought Alastor had jinxed him, and he raised his wand, fully intent on returning the favor. As Tiberius sat up, however, he realized that Alastor himself had been sent several feet in the opposite direction. Minerva was the one who stood with her wand pointed at where the pair of them had been struggling moments ago.

The look on her face would have been enough to send any of the younger students running, and a few of the older ones as well. Tiberius swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet her gaze. He was in the right, after all. Well, maybe not about agreeing to keep Albert's secret. But Alastor really had hit him first.

"Could we please try and discuss this like grown-ups?" Minerva asked, her tone icy.

Alastor grumbled something as he pushed himself to his feet, and Tiberius realized with some small sense of horror that this was the first time Alastor and Minerva had really spoken to each other in days. This could not possibly end well.

"Just a misunderstanding, is all," Tiberius said. "We'll sort it out."

"Yes, you were doing an excellent job of that," Minerva replied. "What's this all about?"

"Tiberius knew what happened to Albert," Alastor said again, speaking in little more than a growl. He seemed to have finally realized the size of the audience they had gained, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"I wasn't aware anything had happened to Albert." Minerva frowned, glancing up at Tiberius.

"Exactly." Tiberius breathed a sigh of relief, raising his hands again. "Nothing happened ta him. He was fine."

"But he was with them," Alastor pressed. "And it could have been him!"

"Aye, I suppose so," Tiberius admitted. "Could have been tha other fellow too."

"That's not the point!"

Alastor's scowl darkened further, his fists clenched at his sides. Tiberius felt reasonably confident that the only reason he had not been punched again was because Minerva now stood between them. The air felt heavy and damp, charged and tense and ready, and Tiberius swore he felt a raindrop or two.

"Alastor," Minerva said after a moment. "You're being a bit...you're being a bit ridiculous about this."

Alastor gaped at her, and honestly, Tiberius did too. She ignored both their shocked looks and went on.

"I'm not saying Tiberius is entirely right. You ought to have told him. But still."

Strictly speaking, Minerva had just lectured them both, but it was Alastor who looked as though Tiberius had hit him again.

"You're siding with him, then?"

"I'm not siding with anyone," Minerva murmured. "I think you both ought to be apologizing."

Tiberius supposed he really did owe Alastor an apology of some sort, though he couldn't say he much liked being told to issue one. Nor did he feel especially keen to be the first one to apologize either. He certainly wasn't the one who had decided to go about hitting people. Alastor stared at Minerva for a moment, his expression unreadable as thunder rumbled somewhere out beyond the lake. When he finally glanced back at Tiberius, however, Alastor wore a rather disgusted look.

"I've not got anything to apologize for."

"Look..." Tiberius sighed, frowning at him. "Look, I dinnae-"

Alastor had already turned though, shoulders tense as he stormed away, the gathered crowd parting in his wake. Tiberius stood, dumbfounded, utterly at a loss as to how this had grown quite so out of hand. Minerva chased after him though, even more exasperated than before.

"Alastor!" She reached out and tried to grab hold of his sleeve. Alastor barely hesitated a moment though, pulling himself free easily and not even bothering to glance at Minerva. His parting words, however, were still perfectly loud enough for even Tiberius to hear.

"Thought you were on his side."

Minerva's fists clenched at her side, and though Tiberius could not see her face he suspected she was scowling. Thunder rumbled again, louder this time, and raindrops had definitely begun to fall now. The fight over, the crowd began to scatter, gathering bags and books and hurrying toward the castle before the storm could truly break. Tiberius still had yet to move though, suddenly tired and aching all over and feeling like someone had jinxed a hole right through his stomach. He really had only been trying to help, and Merlin what a mess it had caused.

"He'll be fine," he murmured, whether trying to reassure himself or Minerva he was unsure. She did not exactly look as though she believed him, but then again, Tiberius could not say he entirely believed himself.

"He was being ridiculous," Minerva said again.

"I'd agree," Tiberius murmured, gingerly poking at his sore nose with two fingers.

"And he'll be fine," Minerva repeated. "Everything will be fine."

Maybe saying the words over and over would make them true. That's how most spells worked, after all. Words and willpower. Tiberius was tempted to try, at least, because somehow, he had a horrible feeling that everything would not be quite so fine at all.

* * *

_A/N - I believe this is an accurate use of the expression "from bad to worse." Exciting and dramatic stuff to come, that's for sure. Reviews, as usual, are great and lovely and wonderful things. =)_


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